For the Jester's Heart
by Nalledia
Summary: Alysa Ice-Wrath is a stone-cold assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, but the meeting of a certain jester sets things in motion she could never have dreamed of before. Writing challenge from Bajazzo.
1. 1: In Need of Assistance

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Fanfiction

Disclaimer:

I do not own Skyrim or any of the NPCs, Quests or game dialog. The rest of the characters are mine. Enjoy and please review!

**A/N:** Hello FanFiction world! Here is a multi-chapter challenge, again by Bajazzo. I'm convinced she'd be the first to join the Dark Brotherhood if the two of us ever ended up in Tamriel. Blessed by Mehrunes Dagon, I'd bet. Anyway, this is her challenge to me. I ended up deciding to follow the Dark Brotherhood questline, with the delicious extras I've been given. It's a 2 POV story, from a Nord OC Alysa, and Cicero, the Night Mother's Keeper. So, here we go, the first chapter is here. Chances are good that by the time I get around to posting this, I'll be busy with the third already. Onwards, Brothers and Sisters, and may the Night Mother wrap you in her cold, loving embrace. After you give a review, of course;):p

**Chapter One: In Need of Assistance**

My name is Alysa Ice-Wrath, born and bred right here in Helgen, Falkreath Hold, a Nord of Skyrim. I am a true child of the north, and its snow, born on 17th of Evening Star, 4E173. I am twenty-seven, and… young, I suppose, considering what I do, what I enjoy doing so much. I am an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, and nothing gives me more pleasure than taking the lives of others, watching them fade into the Void to join my Dread Father Sithis, and the fear on their faces as they realized their end and how I felt myself smile and grow euphoric as their warm, crimson blood flowed over my hands, soaked my clothes and pooled at my feet. They could be grateful I wasn't a vampire, or a werewolf. Oh, how I would kill then…. I would be _unstoppable_.

The Brotherhood found me when I was nineteen, after my 'incident' in Riften with the Aretino boy, who tried to summon them to kill an old woman who headed an orphanage. Too bad for them, I got there first. I killed her amidst the sleeping children, rejoicing in her screams as I sliced her apart, their shrieks of fear as the children woke up. I was still savoring the feel of her blood when the guards came, weapons aloft and speaking nonsense. They dragged me away, kicking and screaming, to the jail. To wait for the headsman's axe. I was in jail when _she_ found me, the one who was closest to the forgotten Listener, and _her_ name is Astrid. I do not know how she got me out, or how she had kept me under for so long, but I didn't wake up until we were in an abandoned shack, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There she was, perched atop a bookshelf, looking so arrogant and nonchalant as she looked me over, red and black armor clinging to her skin, showing her form as a cowl and hood covered her head and mouth, leaving only her eyes visible. She had told me to choose one of the three guilty people before me, bound and a sack over each of their heads, unable to flee. She tossed me a daedric dagger, and watched. I remember my moment of ecstasy, then all three lay dead before me, blood all around. I believe I saw a hint of fear in her grey eyes, behind the way they admired the work I had done. She offered me a place among the Family, and I followed willingly, passing into the Falkreath Sanctuary. I was surprised I hadn't found it before, in fact. I was given the armor of my Family, the Shrouded Armor, and I wore it with pride. I took as many contracts as I could, traveling throughout the Skyrim countryside, and whispers of a merciless Dark Brotherhood assassin spread like wildfire: everywhere I went, people looked over their shoulders, watching for one who would kill them. I took a liking to the dagger first, and the bow only for specific contracts. I stayed away from magic like any sensible Nord; but bought and used poisons I had never known existed. I had Babette teach me how to make my own, and occasionally asked Festus for advice. I especially liked using Frost poisons, and often milked the Frostbite spider Babette kept for its poison. I hadn't even thought of a life outside of murder and assassinations, and then only briefly, until I was on a return trip to the Sanctuary, on the Loreius Farm, a little bit north of Whiterun. A wagon carrying a rectangular wooden box stood beside the road, a jester pacing, singing and dancing beside it, when he wasn't fretting over something. He seemed to speak to himself, often. I smirked, thinking to investigate what exactly was the matter, and what was in the box. As I got closer, the jester suddenly shouted, kicking at a broken wheel. "Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! _STUCK_!" he finished, shrieking. I raised a brow, listening. "My mother, my poor mother! Unmoving! At rest, but too still!" he wailed. Then he spotted me.  
"Something wrong?" I asked, stepping closer.  
The jester nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Poor Cicero is stuck! Can't you see?" he waved at the wagon, running towards it, stroking the box. "I was transporting my dear, sweet mother. Well, not _her_. Her corpse! She's quite dead," he grinned at me. "I'm taking mother to a new home. A new crypt. But... aggh! Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It broke! Don't you see?" he flung himself at the wheel, showing me. I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I drawled listlessly. The jester jumped up, clapping his hands and dancing. "Oh. Oh yes! Yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to the farm – the _Loreius_ Farm. Just over there, off the road," he swept his arms towards the buildings, his eyes wide and a broad smile on his face. It was a little more than slightly disturbing, but strangely infectious. "Talk to _Loreius_. _He_ has tools! _He_ can help me! But he _won't_! He _refuses_! Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!" he sang, and as I walked away I heard him sing. "The farmer is at his farm! Where else would he be? Loreius is his name. Talk to him. Convince him to help poor _CICERO_!" I vaguely heard maniacal, shrieking laughter as I entered the farmhouse and saw the farmer there. He looked up, glaring at me. I pulled my cowl away from my hooded face. "You need to help that fool on the road."  
Loreius grunted. "That Cicero feller? Hmph. Tell me something I don't know. Crazy fool's already asked me about five times. Seems he's not satisfied with my answer. Why can't he just leave us alone?" Just then, his wife walked in. "Help him, and he will. He would even pay you," I said, sounding a little more like I was threatening him. I suppose I was, and I enjoyed it.  
"'_Pay me'_?" he spat. "You think this is about money? Have you seen the man? He's completely out of his head. A jester? Here, in Skyrim? Ain't been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years. And he's transporting some giant box. Says it's a coffin, and he's going to bury his mother. Mother my eye. He could have anything in there. War contraband. Weapons. Skooma. Ain't no way I'm getting involved in any of that."  
I sighed through my nose. "_Help him_," I hissed through clenched teeth.  
The farmer seemed taken aback, and his wife gasped in fear. "What? And just who in Mara's name are you, anyway? Hmm? Come here, telling me my business. And for what? To help a... a... a fool!"  
"Just do it."  
"Look, I... I... You're right. You're right. Feller might be nutters, might not. But fact is, he needs help. I turn him away, what kind of man am I, hmm? Look, um... Thanks. And I'm sorry for my unneighborly reaction. If you talk to Cicero, you be sure and tell him I'll be down to help soon."  
I nodded, and left. When I returned to Cicero, he muttered to himself even more. "Poor mother…. Her new home seems so very far…."  
"Loreius will be up to help you soon," I said, standing close enough to the wagon and… _coffin_, but far enough to not be a part of it.  
The jester – Cicero – jumped up and down, clapping and dancing. "Oh stranger! You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more! Even more! My mother thanks you!" he grabbed my shoulders, embracing me, and pushed a large coin purse into my hands. "Here, here. For your troubles! Shiny, clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed! And thank you! Thank you again!" he finished with a flourish. I walked on my way. "I will wait for Loreius! Oh yes, mother and I will wait right here, right here until he fixes our wheel!" he called after me, and I was a little sad to leave the jester behind. He was… attractive in more than just his act.

* * *

Cicero watched her walk away, her hips swinging and swaying… oh-so-much like a dancer. A deadly dancer. She was one of us, oh yes she was! She was! A pretty Nord, by her bearing… so pretty. But Cicero can't forsake Mother! No! He is Keeper! His duty is to Mother first! "How is Mother? Oh, I am so sorry we are late! Oh Mother!" Poor Cicero falls to his knees, "Oh Mother, we shall hurry to our new home! We shall!" He stands again, pacing, and talking to keep Mother company. His love goes to Mother, not this Nord woman, this beautiful, deadly Nord woman, his sister through the Family! "Forgive me, Mother," Cicero whimpers, and watches Loreius come to help. Oh, what a horrid, horrid mean man! _He_ shall know the meaning of ugly. _Bless my blade, Oh sweet Night Mother…._

* * *

I arrived back at the Sanctuary almost a month later, choosing to stick to the roads. I had been saving for a horse, but apparently they were more expensive than I had believed. There was commotion in the common room, and I followed the voices. One I recognized immediately. "But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... _punishment_?" Was the jester a Family member?  
"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets 'punished.'" Arnbjorn's deep voice growled.  
"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog," Festus' sharp, intelligent voice commanded. "The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."  
Cicero launched himself at Festus, wrapping him in a tight embrace as I took in the sights before me. "Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are! Sure to earn our Lady's favor!"  
"You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood... _husband_?" Astrid finished, glaring at Arnbjorn, who grunted and walked away.  
Cicero released Festus, who looked more than a little miffed. I smirked. It would do the wizard good. "Oh, yes yes yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Cicero moved to embrace Astrid, but she stepped back, a hand on her dagger. She looked so regal in threat: I might not have liked her all that much, but I respected my leader for who she was, what she had done for all of us. I almost smirked when Cicero paused at her next words. "But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"  
"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss," the jester bowed deeply, then turned back to the coffin. _The Night Mother…_ I thought, deciding to investigate further. Sithis I knew well, but the Night Mother was an entirely different story. She was a part of the Brotherhood's history that had been buried when the last Listener had died. My Family dispersed, and I found myself drawn to Cicero and the Night Mother. Perhaps _I_ would hear her voice one day. Astrid stopped me before I could go further. As much respect as I had for her in keeping the Brotherhood alive, she had destroyed any traditions we had, and she had a knack for picking the worst time to talk to me. "Ah, there you are. Good, I was done speaking with that muttering fool anyway. We've got some business to discuss," she grinned lazily.  
"So you have a contract."  
"I do indeed, Alysa. You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary's assistant. You'll probably find her in The Hag's Cure, when the shop is open. The girl's been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out."  
I nodded. "Anything else I should do?"  
"Just do whatever the contract wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it's your first major contract in a city, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure. They always are…" Astrid trailed off, looking at her husband before turning back to me. "Leave when you're ready."  
I nodded, watching her walk away before I sauntered over to Cicero. Now that I was paying more attention, I recognized him as an Imperial. He was muttering to himself, or to the Night Mother, as I got closer. "Another member of the Family! Hello, hello. So very good to meet you!" he exclaimed, only turning his head slightly to acknowledge me. Then he froze, and turned slowly on his heels to look directly at me. "Wait, oh wait! I know you! Yes, yes; from the road! Cicero never forgets a face!"  
I gave a half-smile, just stopping myself from grinning outright. I had hoped he would remember me, and a feeling I couldn't place bloomed in my chest. "So, you were the man transporting his mother…."  
Cicero clapped, grinning and laughing. "I am! I was! But not just _my_ mother. _Our_ mother, hmm? The Night Mother! Oh yes! And you helped me! You helped poor Cicero! You talked to Loreius, got him to fix my wheel! Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And our mother, she will never forget!" I smirked, and looked to the side. "Oooh…. So silent. So menacing. A true assassin of the old way. Cicero likes you. Oh yes, Cicero likes you, indeed…" the jester purred, and looking into his eyes again, I saw a glimmer of sanity behind the madness. In that sanity, I saw an assassin blessed by the Night Mother and Sithis himself. It was unnerving. But it was gone as quickly as it came. "So, Cicero, what exactly do you do for our Family?"  
The jester's eyes widened as he pointed at himself. "Me? Oh, Cicero is just the Keeper! I… keep! I look after our matron, you see. The Night Mother. I keep her clean, and protected, and happy…. But I am not the Listener. Oh no. There is _no Listener_. Not yet!" he grabbed my shoulders briefly. "But some day, some day, _SOME DAY_ I pray, that one will come to hear her say… _The Words_…."  
"Ah…" I said, raising both eyebrows. Cicero nodded, his eyes glinting, looking over me for some reason. I found myself wondering why.

* * *

Oh, oh, oh! So beautiful! So menacing! Surely so like the Listeners of Old! Oh how Cicero wishes _she_ would be the Listener! Yes! Oh, how Cicero _loves_ hearing her speak; soft like the winter breeze, cold like Skyrim's winter storms. Never has Cicero so enjoyed another's voice, and perhaps company. Or maybe he once did…. He can't remember. Or he doesn't _want_ to remember. NO! Cicero lives for the Night Mother, and _she_ is the one whose company he enjoys, whose voice he longs to hear…. But wait! She speaks again! Cicero must know her name…. "Why did you move our Mother from her crypt in Bravil?"  
She is versed in our history, Mother! Oh, she knows where you were! "The Night Mother's crypt in Bravil was… _desecrated_. The Imperial Province is _ravaged_ by strife. Nowhere is safe, at present. So Cicero brought our Lady to her new home. Here! This is the only Sanctuary left in all of Skyrim, you see. Such was my…_ honor_. As Keeper."  
She frowned, oh she glared at Cicero! "What exactly does a 'Keeper' do?"  
Cicero shuffles his feet, and glances down. "Oh, Cicero takes care of our Lady's body. _Oils_ it, _preserves_ it, keeps it _safe_. Makes sure nobody disrespects our Matron's coffin," he glares at the horrid wolf-man.  
"Hm. I must go," the she-assassin of old said, straightening and turning.  
"Wait! Oh, wait!" Cicero takes her arm, but quickly lets go. "What name do you go by, Sister? You know Cicero's name, but Cicero doesn't know yours!"  
She glared at where Cicero had touched her, and then at him. "Ice-Wrath. Alysa Ice-Wrath."  
Dear Cicero watched her turn her back and walk away. _Oh, sweet Mother, help your poor Cicero…._

* * *

I walked away feeling shaken to the bone. I swallowed hard and dry, never glancing back and using all of my training as an assassin to keep from touching my arm where Cicero had reached for me. I passed Veezara, half-grinning, half-smirking at the Argonian as he sat cross-legged on the ground. He grinned back, with the sharp, toothy grin only an Argonian can give. I jogged up the stairs, and down the passage to where the beds were, stepping behind a screen and taking my armor off, replacing it with a warm, dark tunic and leggings. I strapped my daggers on again once I finished, putting my armor in a chest at the foot of my bed. I strolled into the dining hall to eat, and enjoyed a volley of sarcastic remarks and puns from the Redguard Nazir. Babette appeared a little while later, and stalked around the room, wrinkling her nose at the smell of food and drink, then wandered off again. She was a delightful – albeit ancient – addition to the Brotherhood, with her childish charm and deadly speed, never minding her sadistic nature. Few others seemed able to be near her, and I think she rather liked it, often. Festus came a time after that, and his grumblings about spells and potions and poisons were barely audible. Nazir left, and I stayed, drinking mead until I wasn't quite sure which way was straight, and finally stumbled to my bed, removing my daggers and putting them under my pillow, lying on my stomach as I hugged it to my chest, a hand wrapped around each hilt.


	2. 2: With Friends Like These

**Chapter Two: With Friends Like These…**

I woke up with a gods-cursed headache. Damn me and my love of mead, and damn the Sanctuary for keeping barrels of the drink. I groaned, rolling onto my side, and eventually upright. I cradled my head between my hands, pressing the heel of my palms into my closed eyes and massaging my temples. Someone was watching me, but I could care less at the moment. "Too much mead, Alysa?" a cheery voice sang. I felt my shoulders sag: I couldn't deal with overly cheeriness this early in the morning. _Oh, Sithis help me,_ I thought. _Please let me have imagined it's that clown…._ "Oh, yes yes! Too much mead for Alys-ah-oof!"  
I tackled the jester, pleased with the sound of air whooshing out of his lungs, my throbbing head forgotten momentarily. We wrestled for the upper hand, and I punched and kicked as hard as I could. I hissed, sucking in a breath as I connected with stone. I gasped as I was suddenly heaved up, and tossed. Cicero was stronger than he looked. I flailed briefly, quickly tucking myself into a ball and rolling along a tight passage. Footsteps ran closer. _Wait, wait!_ I commanded myself, staying in a ball until the jester jumped. I rolled upright, using my energy to propel my left fist into the area just below his breastbone. Cicero bounced backwards, my fist exploding with pain, throbbing in tune with my head. I swore, not waiting to see if Cicero would stand. I glanced behind me once, bolting down the stairs and crashed straight into Arnbjorn. We tumbled down the stairs, and since I was much lighter, I was flung quite a way further. I felt winded, my hangover forgotten in my need to breathe. I sat up, trying to gulp in air. Arnbjorn growled, "Watch it, Tidbit!"  
Cicero appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes wild and a long, thin, ebony dagger in hand.  
I bared my teeth, ignoring Arnbjorn for the moment and propelling myself forwards, crying out my rage as I ran.  
Cicero bounced down the stairs.  
Something slammed into me.  
A wolf slammed into Cicero, dagger clattering away and into the pool.  
I snarled, struggling against something scaly, eyes only for my prey. The scaly thing let me go, and before I could stand my muscles froze, and I couldn't move. "Festus!" I screamed through clenched teeth. "You let me go! Curse your magic!"

"Enough!"

Astrid's voice cut through the commotion. Cicero was snarling at the wolf, whom I suddenly realized was Arnbjorn. He snapped his jaws at the jester, and he went limp, wide-eyed and whimpering, begging the Night Mother for something. I felt the Paralysis spell easing off, my muscles slowly becoming my own again. "What happened here?" Astrid demanded, striding towards us. I heard Babette snigger from somewhere. I still couldn't move myself just yet. "Festus, let her stand. And husband, get off the Keeper. Keep them both calm, Festus."  
I sighed in relief when the spell disappeared from my limbs, and I stood immediately, dusting myself off as I glared at Cicero, and eventually Astrid. "Alysa," she purred, venom in her voice. "What is the meaning of this?" she waved a lazy hand at the scene.  
I sighed through my nose, standing taller and lifting my chin. My pride would _not _break under me today. "We fought, and I was winning until _he_–" I jerked my head in Cicero's direction, "–pulled a knife. And Veezara jumped me. And Arnbjorn changed." _And Festus put a spell on me,_ I thought sourly, feeling my nose wrinkle in disgust. Cicero started talking quickly, and I snorted loudly, turning to leave. Astrid took my arm as I passed her, and Arnbjorn growled. I flexed my jaw. I _hated_ it when people touched me. I refused to turn around, letting my anger cool and freeze over into ice. The kind of ice that could easily let me kill whole villages of people at a time.

* * *

"Poor Cicero did nothing! He greeted his dear Sister and she tackled him! Oh yes she did! She tackled poor Cicero to the ground and fought him! He _had_ to defend himself!" poor Cicero explained. He didn't like seeing the wolf-man as a wolf; and he made Alysa angry. Cicero looked at her, oh she _was_ angry! Now he knows _why_ she is called Ice-Wrath: oh she is cold, cold, cold! Especially when she is angry, raging, furious! So deadly; maybe she will freeze this… _Astrid's_ arm, and then _that_ woman will die! She thinks Cicero doesn't hear, but he hears EVERYTHING! She speaks of heresies, denying the Night Mother and the traditions of the Dark Brotherhood! The woman keeps talking, and Cicero mumbles an apology, pretending to be sorry. He listens carefully to Alysa when – mm – _Astrid_ tells her to speak. "I am not sorry. I will apologize only because he is my Brother. Other than that," and she turns, she turns! But she glares at poor, sweet Cicero. "Stay _away_ from me in the mornings, Keeper. And Astrid: _let. Go. Of. Me._"

Cicero's favorite assassin jerked her arm away, glaring at _Astrid_ and stalked away. Oh, perhaps Cicero _should_ get to know her better! Perhaps then the Night Mother will accept her as Listener, since she doesn't want dear Cicero! He wants to apologize to Alysa, but he doesn't think she will be kind to Cicero, oh no not yet! Perhaps later… besides, Mother needs oiling! Cicero must get all of the hard-to-reach places! Yes, sweet Cicero will oil Mother then he will apologize. "_Ho ho ho, and hee hee hee, break that lute across my knee! And if the bard should choose to fight, why then I'll set his clothes alight!_" Cicero sings, dancing and showing his Family what he means as he dances all the way to Mother.

* * *

I ground my teeth: I shouldn't have started a fight with the jester. It was stupid, thinking back now. I needed to be gone, now: to travel and take my first _real_ contract, to track, stalk and kill my prey; unlike the minor ones Nazir had given me when they turned up. I sneered at the thought of another snivelling idiot at my feet, whimpering for mercy and life. My lips curled into a smile. Oh yes, _that_ was what I needed. I took my armor from my chest, then quickly washed in a pool deeper into the Sanctuary, close to where the beds were. I put on my armor, carrying my clothes under arm and strapping on my twin daedric daggers, putting my clothes back into the chest and taking out my daedric bow and quiver with twenty arrows. Right before I pulled my hood over my head as I turned, I caught my reflection in a small mirror on one of the walls. Only my face was shown, but it made me think of my appearance overall. I was delicately built for a Nord woman: slender, and much shorter than the average Nord – I was almost a Breton-like height, probably from the series of mishaps that made up my childhood – my breasts were small, which I would eternally be grateful for, considering my… _occupation_, with a narrow waist and hips not much more prominent, though if I bothered to dress up I could look a little more rounded than I do in armor. I had often used my fragile-looking body to get my targets to take me straight into their homes. My legs were long, strong and toned from running, climbing, fighting and other acrobatics I needed to know. My fingers were long and thin, perfect for pickpocketing and wielding lockpicks, the latter of which was the only I was extremely good at. After all, targets don't always invite you in…. I let my mind's eye close, and studied my face in the mirror, watching myself sigh. I have a heart-shaped face, well-proportioned too, with smooth, pale skin and slightly more prominent cheekbones. My mouth was small, but my lips were fuller than most Nord women's, which made killing male targets very easy. Finally, I let my gaze settle on my blue-grey eyes, which could deceive even the most cynical. I had long lashes, and finely shaped eyebrows of a light brown. My hair was thick and fairly short: hanging just above my shoulders in bangs. I usually asked Babette or the Dunmer woman – I could never remember her name, probably because she and I rarely spoke otherwise – to braid my hair for me while out on small contracts. Now my light, mouse-brown hair hung loose, and I wasn't about to find someone and ask for help. I would have to go without a braid this time. I scowled, pulling up my hood and tucking my hair in, leaving my cowl down. I'd cover my mouth and nose once outside. I didn't see anyone in the main room when I left, or the common room when I collected a pack and took three waterskins and a wineskin, which I filled with mead. Astrid's door was closed, and I could just hear voices inside, so I assumed she and Arnbjorn were having a discussion about him changing in the Sanctuary. She had an absolute distaste for that. Not that I blamed her – I'd seen it once before, and his armor had ripped to pieces. When he finally changed back, he was clad in nothing but his skin. Horridly embarrassing. Not that Arnbjorn ever cared. Now that the memory came back to me, I decided I would rather be a vampire if it ever came down to it. At least then the only time I would be naked was when I _chose_ to be naked. I snorted softly, pulling my cowl over my face and pulling the heavy stone door open. It was a long walk to Markarth, and I would need to head to Falkreath and see if I couldn't take a cart up to Markarth. Assuming someone took one down to Falkreath. All it meant if I didn't find one, was my journey would take longer and me a little more than slightly difficult. I preferred easy journeys, and buying a horse for myself was not yet an option – I had only just gotten one thousand gold from contracts and fencing my target's goods, and I wasn't prepared to give it all away for a horse. I had weapons and armor to repair, and poisons to make! "By Sithis!" I hissed, shaking my head and stamping a foot. I had forgotten to take a few bottles of Frost Poison. Oh well, I'd have to buy one. Or acquire one. Or meet a Frostbite spider, that's all. I wasn't going back now. The Sanctuary would see me again in two months or more, depending on travel and such. Assuming the contract was actually _in_ Markarth. I sighed, glad for the cowl to take away just a little more of the bite Skyrim air had. Falkreath was in sight, and I'd spend the night there, to see if a traveller came by via a cart. Hopefully there was a cart, just for me.

* * *

Cicero decided. He was going to apologize! He would find Alysa Ice-Wrath, and he would say that Cicero was sorry! He never meant to irritate her! Just say _Good Morning_ and _How Are You_, that's all! Nothing else, no sweet Night Mother, nothing else. It wasn't dear Cicero's fault _she_ had too much to drink! No no no! It wasn't. Cicero sighed as he skipped to the common room. Alysa wasn't there. He skipped to where he heard she made potions sometimes. Only wonderful Festus was there. And the scary vampire-child, the un-child. Strange child, but Cicero thinks he might like her. He danced and sang all the way to the main room. The Argonian Veezara was there. Oh Cicero likes him a lot! Not as much as Alysa, though: no no! Alysa was much more interesting. "Hello hello! Good day! Brother Argonian, have you seen Ice-Wrath Alysa?"  
The green lizard-man blinked. "Alysa? She left to take care of a contract for Astrid. Not sure who, or where, but if she's fast we'll see her again in two months, if the contract happens in Markarth or close surrounds in that Hold," he answered.  
Oh Cicero despaired! He wailed and cried out! "Oh! Sweet Mother! What must poor Cicero now do?! He can't say he's sorry now!" the green-man Veezara blinked, staring at Cicero. "Oh, thank you, Argonian! Dear Cicero shall await her return! But, perhaps we could talk about the Night Mother, our Unholy Matron?"

* * *

There hadn't been a cart that came the next morning, or that afternoon, or even that evening, but there _had_ been an apothecary which _didn't_ have any poisons. Or ingredients to make one. It made me want to kill.

So I did.

The male assistant had a horse, and he had been rude, so I followed him home, slit his throat, slashed his wrists and his chest and took the horse he had tethered to a post just outside. I took the man's gold and a few valuable gems, too. I'd eventually have to make my way to Riften's Ratway for a fence. I suppose I scared the townsfolk, because I rode out of town with a smile plastered on my face. I had taken my cowl off to look a little less suspicious. I was well past the Sanctuary before my euphoria started wearing off and I pushed the horse to a gallop. It might have been night, but I was going to travel as far as I could for as long as I could. I might be an assassin, but I wasn't entirely merciless: if something was useful to me, it would live much longer than it normally would have, if I could help it. This horse might see some hard times, but it would get the best care in other times. I would take the road north and west past Lake Ilinalta, and at the second crossroads take the road heading west into the mountains, and to Markarth. At least two weeks, maybe a little more, on the road.  
I stifled a yawn a little after midnight, and I could feel the horse was tired as well. We camped in a grove of trees, and I slept as though Sithis had claimed me as his own in the Void.

* * *

Bother and befuddle! Oh Mother, oh sweet Night Mother what must Cicero do?! Will he never hear your voice?! Oh he speaks and he listens Mother! The others are slowly coming around, yes they are! It's just that woman _Astrid_ who speaks of heresies! She refuses to acknowledge you as her Unholy Matron! Oh sweet, dear Mother what must Cicero do?! Will you never speak?! No! No you will never speak! Oh, oh Mother forgive me, forgive your humble Cicero! He meant no offense, no sweet Night Mother, he knows you will speak The Words when you are ready! Cicero has faith! Can Cicero dance and sing for you, oh dear Night Mother?


	3. 3: Mourning Never Comes

**A/N:** Okidoki, apologies for the late one. I want to be a chapter ahead, and getting Muiri's dialog wasn't quite so easy. Either way, I got it, changed some of it (I think – I finished this chapter a week ago) and I am now posting this with the hope that the next chapter will come soon. Also, those who have/are reading The Tale of Arya, I know I'm not updating it all that often, but I promise another chapter of that soon. Read on, and may Sithis guide your blade. Or your pen.:D Preferably your pen.

**Chapter 3: Mourning Never Comes**

We arrived in Markarth fairly safe and sound, and I handed twenty gold pieces to the stable hand to look after my horse as best he could, and the boy's wide eyes gave away he had never seen so much gold in his life. "Take excellent care of her, and there's more where that came from if you do. If not…" I trailed, touching my index finger to my neck and drawing it across. He nodded vigorously, not realizing I meant it literally. I smirked, sauntering over to the city gates. I had never been inside Markarth before: most of the contracts Nazir gave me were in little villages, caves, farms and the like. There was so much that could go wrong in a city assassination, so many places to hide it was exciting. I could feel my heart begin to beat faster. I hoped my target was inside a city, be it Markarth or Winterhold. A guard stopped me, demanding gold to enter the city, no doubt having seen what I gave the stable hand. I glared at him, hands on my hips. "That's preposterous!" I exclaimed, purposefully making my voice louder than necessary. "Do you really think I'm going to _pay_ to get inside when–"  
"Alright, alright!" the guard shushed, his hands trying to lower my voice. "Do you want all of Markarth to hear you? I'll just unlock the gate for you," he turned away fumbling for a key. It was all I could do to stop from sniggering as I passed him. If he hadn't been wearing that full-faced helmet, I'd bet he would be very pale. Or very flushed, I could care less which one: I just knew it was funny.

Markarth was a city built atop a sprawling set of Dwemer ruins, the name of which I was sure I had never heard before, and which I certainly couldn't pronounce. Apparently they were only now beginning to explore it. Rumors were rife in the city, and more than a few times I heard something about a 'Dragonborn' Bosmer, and then a 'Dragonborn' Altmer. Self-righteous elves, all of them. Thrice-cursed elves; I hope Sithis claims them all for eternal pain and suffering in the Void. No matter if they were High, Wood or Dark. All could suffer and die in my opinion for all they had done to us Nords in the past, and currently. I suppose, had I been an ordinary citizen, I might have joined the Stormcloaks: I certainly had considered it once, when I had been sixteen. But a lot had happened before then, and after, and I found the life of an assassin suited me better. I shook my head, coming back to the present and looking around me at the white city. It went up into the mountains, with streams and waterfalls all around, with little stone bridges across them everywhere. Interestingly enough, as high up as the paths went, there were no rails or walls to stop people from falling into the water or off high walkways. A chase in this city could easily result in an 'accident', where someone 'fell' to an untimely death: how exhilarating. Here was the place to assassinate in the dark, in secret: or in broad daylight, in public. Oh well, it wasn't so bad, I supposed. I could disappear if I wanted to. I hefted my almost empty pack a little higher, and checked myself into an inn, asking the innkeeper for directions to The Hag's Cure. I nodded my thanks, leaving my pack in the room and locking the door with the key I had been given. Hopefully the apothecary would have poisons there. I felt empty without them. I wandered through the afternoon streets, making my way to my client. I walked into the shop, and started looking around. I immediately found five – albeit weak – Frost poisons, and took them immediately. I cringed on the inside: there went about three-hundred gold. I placed them on the counter, and a young woman smiled at me. "Is this all?" she asked, her voice soft and kind.  
I nodded curtly. "I'm also looking for Muiri."  
The woman blinked. "I'm Muiri," her voice dropped, and she glanced around the empty store quickly, leaning closer and dropping her voice to a whisper. "Are you…? I mean, did they… the…." I raised my brows, my face probably screaming 'get to the point'. Muiri finally spat it out in a strained whisper: "Are you from the Dark Brotherhood?"  
I leaned on the counter with both elbows, dropping a hip as I rested my leg. "Yes," I replied coolly, about to ask her about the contract when she got very excited.  
"The Black Sacrament. It actually worked?"  
I rolled my eyes. "Obviously. Now tell me what you need."  
She was still grinning like an idiot, although I think a little taken aback. "What I need?" she echoed, then gathered resolve. "What I need is for Alain Dufont to die! I want him hunted down and murdered like the dog he is!" _Oh, another crime of passion!_ I commented sarcastically in my head. I looked at her expectantly. She didn't say anything else, just breathed deeply after her outburst. I sighed through my nose and straightened, both hands flat on the counter. "By Sithis, I need details! Get to the point."  
The girl's mouth worked like a fish trying to breathe on land. I resisted the temptation to call her out on it. "I didn't know it when we were…_ with each other_…" _Oh, hurry it up!_ I thought, but she plowed on instead. "But Alain is actually the leader of a band of cutthroats. Bandits. They're holed up in some old Dwemer ruin – Raldbthar. It's near Windhelm. They use it as their base. It's where they stage their raids…" she trailed off, bitter. "I want you to go to that ruin, find Alain Dufont, and kill him. I don't care about his friends. Do whatever you want with them. But Alain has to die!"  
I memorized the names of the places – I'd ask for clearer directions once in Windhelm. "It will be done," I said coldly.  
"Excellent!" Muiri smiled. "Once Alain is dead, I'll pay you. In gold. I've saved up a bit, I hope that'll do. But, well… there is one more thing. If you're interested," she finished hesitantly.  
I raised a brow, cocking my head. "Speak."  
"If you can, I want you to kill someone else –"  
"Of course I can."  
She blanched suddenly. Who did she think she was talking to? A lowly sellsword? I closed my eyes briefly in annoyance. Astrid hadn't mentioned they'd be _stupid_. "Continue."  
"You don't have to – not as part of our deal. But if you do… I'll pay you even more. It's Nilsine Shatter-Shield, in Windhelm. If Nilsine dies, too… I'll make it worth your while."  
I nodded. She then blathered on about dear friends, and treachery and drowning in tears and blah, blah, blah before she finally stopped. "Anything else?" I asked. I was bored. Boredom doesn't still well with me.  
She nodded quickly. "I planned to kill Alain myself, you know. Nilsine too. But I lost my nerve. I even brewed a special poison, Lotus Extract. Maybe you could use it? Just coat your weapon with it. Then… you get the idea."  
_Known it for eight years, my dear client,_ I sneered mentally in reply to her comment, nodding and taking up the seven bottles of poison she had given and sold to me, suddenly at half price. Might as well spend the night, and head out in the morning to the other side of Skyrim. Thank Sithis I had found myself a horse. I suppose also, I hadn't quite been as polite as I should have been, but then how can _anyone_ take a polite, kind assassin seriously?

* * *

"Shut up, little man!"  
Cicero stopped singing. That horrid wolf-man just _NEVER_ leaves poor Cicero alone! What did sweet Cicero do, Mother? "Hmmmmm…" Cicero strokes his chin, pretends to think! Oh, Mother, he _IS_ a terrible man! Mean wolf! "Cicero will go speak to the kind, wise wizard, then! He's _always_ interested in Cicero's tales of the Night Mother and long-lost TRADITION!" Cicero lifts his head, and skips away before the wolf-man can do other mean things to sweet Cicero. "Keeper," the fortune-teller!  
Oh oh! Cicero _must_ speak with her! "Hello dear sweet Sister!" Cicero bows, then clasps his hands at his chest. The dark she-elf looks him over very calmly, yes. Strange one, so calm.  
"Keeper," she says again.  
Can she say anything else, sweet Night Mother? Shall Cicero find out? "Oh, dear Sister! Perhaps we can talk about the Night Mother, and the manner –"  
"Jester, do not think that I do not know about our past, or that I would not like to speak of it, but I am rather busy at the moment. I have predicted someone's death and must go to realize it," she sighs, and brushes past Cicero. Oh well, perhaps _next_ time we shall speak! But she _can_ say more than 'Keeper', Mother! Yes she can! "_Oh, if I chance to see cat, I'll feed its corpse to my pet rat…_" Cicero sings. He misses Alysa. He hopes she comes back! And soon! Oh, if he was Listener, he would ask Mother about her… what she was doing, if she was killing and murdering, and enjoying it as much as Cicero once did! For Sithis and the Night Mother! Cicero will welcome Alysa home, yes yes yes! He will! But no! Cicero serves the Night Mother first! He cannot stray! "Festus! Kind, wise wizard!"  
"Yes, Cicero?" he replied. Cicero likes this wizard, yes ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo he does!  
"What magics will you work today, with our Mother's blessing?"

* * *

I ended up walking and leading my horse every few days: I just couldn't sit in the saddle for that long. My usually three month journey was drastically shortened to a month-and-a-half, and the cold, biting wind and snow of Windhelm was a strangely welcoming feeling. It made me itch to find my prey, and revel in the warmth of their crimson life-force as it flowed away…. I shivered, grinning as I pulled my cowl down to speak with the stable hand, handing him a small coinpurse with a promise of more. I asked him about Raldbthar, but he could only tell me it was nearby, a few hours away. I nodded, pulling my cloak closer around me as I walked to Windhelm's city gates. The guards let me pass without incident, and I briefly wondered about joining the Stormcloaks as I stared up at the peaks of the Blue Palace. I eventually decided I'd get so happy killing that I'd turn on my own side, or go rogue and hunt on my own. I shrugged, grinning again, and made my way to an inn. I asked about Nilsine Shatter-Shield, got directions to her doorstep in connection with murders in the city, and found a strange Bosmer woman who gave me directions to Raldbthar. She looked almost like a vampire, but was warm, and almost like a wolf, but was too friendly. An Imperial male mage sat with her, and he smirked into his mug at something they had been talking about earlier, his lips barely moving as he murmured something. The elf turned to glare at him playfully, and I couldn't help but think they were lovers. I quickly moved away, and ordered myself a tankard of mead, savoring the golden liquid. I'd scout Nilsine's house tonight, kill her tomorrow and make a run for Raldbthar, if things went badly. If I had any pursuit, I'd hopefully lose them in the mountains and snow. I paid for a room, stored my things, changed into poor rags, and went for a walk to the Shatter-Shield house. It was near dusk. Before I knocked on the door, I smeared dirt over my face and arms. I was mostly to see who would answer. An old man came to the door; he looked as though he was bowed down by a great weight on his shoulders. "Yes?" he asked.  
I lowered my gaze, fidgeted. "Evenin' Sir. Sir, see, I's lookin' fer work, Sir. I cin do most anyth'n, Sir. Jus' a silver a week, Sir."  
I heard him sigh, shift his weight, I cowered and flinched a little, just as I had been taught to when I was ten. "Alright," he conceded. "You can begin in the morning. Why don't you come inside, have a warm meal and some proper clothes? I think you may fit into some of my daughter's things."  
He stood to one side, and I shuffled through quickly. "Oh, thank ye, kind Sir! Divines bless ye!" I waited with my head bent until he led me to a fire place, had me sit before it and his daughter – Nilsine, I presumed – brought a bowl of stew and some warm clothes to me. I kept up my pitiful beggar act, and had to concentrate on acting as though I really was starved, slurping food and being generally rude with it. So messy; I hated making a mess. Unless it involved daggers and blood and killing, of course. I didn't have to clean up any of that. I almost smirked, thinking of how easy it had been to get in. I was sure getting out would be just as easy, assuming I was quiet about everything I did. Sadly this kill had to be quick, silent. I do so love to hear them scream and beg for mercy. I was allowed to take a warm bath, and shown to a room upstairs, conveniently situated next to Nilsine's. I might still leave Windhelm tonight. I lay in bed with my new clothes on, listening as the house quieted, waiting, each moment stretching an eternity into the Void. Eventually I got up, slowly padding down the stairs to get a kitchen knife. I hid it under my bodice, moving carefully so it didn't cut me. I stopped outside Nilsine's door, listening to the sounds of the house, and her deep breathing inside. I slowly opened her door, taking the knife out and holding it in my hand. I shut the door behind me, stepping closer and closer. I felt a broad smile spread across my face, my senses sharpening. I was aware of every movement, sound, smell, taste. I didn't have poisons with me, but this would be far more pleasurable. I took a pillow from a chair, holding it in my left hand. I sliced through Nilsine's white throat, and smothered her face with the pillow before she could wake properly. I felt her writhe as she struggled to breathe, her blood filling her lungs before she gave in. I waited a while longer, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Her blood was there, warm, black in the night, and slightly coppery in taste. I carefully lifted the pillow, making sure she was properly dead before tossing it to a side, laying the knife on her bedside table and quickly washing as much blood off my visible body in her washbasin. I grinned back at my reflection, and walked out the front door. I stopped at the inn, changed into my armor and stuffed the clothes I had been given under the bed. I took my things and left, the sleeping innkeeper none the wiser. Nor would any other person, for that matter, until perhaps the morning. Oh, I loved being an assassin.

* * *

Less than a week later saw me watching the ruin of Raldbthar from a distance, scouting out the patrols, and I found there were two shifts of four men each – I could only take them out slowly, as each one veered out of sight of the others. I pulled my cowl higher over my face, and my hood down, tucking all loose strands of hair in. A sudden thought appeared: I wished Cicero was here to help me. I blinked, frowning. _Why Cicero? I don't even know him all that well, or what he's capable of._ I shook my head, and prepared to shoot down the bandits. I had a long night ahead.

I pulled my cowl down at dawn the next morning, sucking in a deep breath of frozen mountain air. Alain had proven himself a trained fighter, and although a challenge, he was no match for me. Or anyone now, for that matter. His entrails and blood was all over the main room of the Raldbthar Dwemer ruin. My horse was dozing quietly where I had left him, and I was glad to finally be headed home, almost. I couldn't wait to tell Cicero about this: I was sure he'd listen. I shook away further thoughts of the jester: why did I care, anyway? It wasn't as if we were friends, or even acquaintances. Just two Family members. I mounted, and rode south-west. I'd reach a road soon enough that way, ride for Whiterun, then across to Markarth for my payments. Then home! As much as I loved the thrill of travel, and the joys of assassinations, there was no feeling like going home to the Sanctuary….

Muiri had been all too pleased that I had killed both Alain and Nilsine, and she rewarded me with a generous amount of two-hundred gold and her Alchemy-enchanted ring. I was a day's ride from the Sanctuary, and I took a roundabout route to shake off potential followers and find a place to keep my horse. I found a strange clearing with a lava or tar pool, and left my horse in what looked a natural paddock with a small stream passing through, untacking the creature and making my way on foot to the Sanctuary door. I touched the handle, and felt shivers travel up and down my back as it asked its question. "_What is the music of life?_"  
"Silence, my brother," I answered, and the stone shuddered, opening for me.  
"_Welcome, home…._"

"ALYSA!"

I started, reaching for my daedric dagger only to be pinned to a wall and crushed in a bear hug. I struggled initially, but the embrace just got tighter. I suddenly realized it was the jester, and relaxed, letting him finish this ridiculous act. A thought vaguely mentioned how little I was compared to the jester, and how comforting it actually was to be held again, after so many years…. Once I relaxed, so did Cicero, but he still held onto me. Eventually, I awkwardly patted his back. I wasn't used to any kind of affection like this. I think I might like it….


	4. 4: Innocence Lost, Madness Gained

**A/N:** Hello again! I realize it's been a while – thank the virus and MIA backups, which I have found again! Rejoice! Anyway, here is chapter four, so enjoy, and may the Night Mother walk with you always.

**Chapter 4: Innocence Lost, Madness Gained**

Oh, she thought Cicero would let go! Hee-hee-hee! But no! Cicero will hug his sister, his petite, little sister! And she hugged him back! Ooh-hoo! Cicero is so happy! He lets Alysa go, but holds her at arm length. "Welcome home, sweet Sister! Oh, Cicero wondered when you would return! Tell us, oh tell us about the kill! Did you make your target bleed? Scream? Beg for mercy? Poison, magic –"  
"Cicero," she interrupted, quiet but cold and deadly like her daedric daggers! Cicero listened, but he wishes he could listen to Mother!

* * *

I stared at Cicero, for a moment lost for words. What was I going to say? I had just realized how much taller he was than me – I only just made it to his shoulders – and how perfectly I had fit into his embrace. "Yes, Alysa? What did you want to say to Cicero?"  
I started, blinking. "I don't remember…."  
"OH!" Cicero clapped, bouncing on his feet. "Cicero knows how to help his sweet sister remember! She has travelled far –" he swept his arms to one side, "– and wide –" he swept his arms to the other side, "and Alysa will want food! Mead! And then she _must_ tell Cicero what she did! How she killed her target, and–"  
"Hm, no," I interrupted, half-smiling coyly as I brushed past him, his expression falling as he thought I blew him off. "Target-_ss_."  
"More than one? Oh, oh, oh! Cicero must know! Tell us, dear sweet sister!"  
"Of course, Brother. But first, as you said, a tankard of mead and a plate of food is calling," I said over my shoulder.

* * *

Cicero watched her walk away, lightly swaying hips, coy smile – oh, she is so… Cicero doesn't think there is a word for Alysa. He just knows that he will follow Alysa, and whatever happens, he will stay with her. Oh, he can't wait to hear her stories! The way she hunted and killed… Cicero skipped closer, linked her arm with his. "So, Sister, tell humble Cicero about your target-_sssss_."

Oh, sweet Night Mother, she laughed. Cicero will forever remember _that_ laugh, not the same one as the last jester Cicero killed – oh, no, no! This one is so full of life, so full of a dark passion for serving our Dread Father and Unholy Matron – Cicero believes there is something special about this one, something there that there hasn't been in a very long in any of the many Families Cicero has been to – of that, this Keeper is fairly sure.

* * *

Cicero kept good company, actually. Or at least, he kept good company with me. Nazir wasn't overly fond of him, calling Cicero a clown under his breath every now and again, and a Fool outright whenever he referred to the Keeper directly while we were in the dining hall eating, and eventually I think he had enough of an almost-mellow Nord woman-assassin and a loud jester-assassin, so he left. Cicero listened attentively when I told him about Nilsine, Alain and Muiri, and offered some useful tips on assassinating targets. But he didn't give all that much about himself, when I asked – some things he refused to say, and anything I asked was cleverly and very easily deflected, just as one might deflect swords with swords. Once or twice he actually almost managed to force me to share my own past, so I gave up eventually, partly because it was getting old to have my questions sidestepped and the mead was making me feel a little warm and fuzzy, and I had no intention of sharing something I wasn't interested in reliving. I can't remember a time I had laughed as much as now, and we eventually made our way to the beds, arm in arm again. I sighed, dropping my weapons on the bed. "Cicero, you and I will speak again tomorrow, but for now, there are things I must do. _Alone_," I added when he looked a little excited.  
"Of course, sweet Alysa! Cicero wishes you a night blessed by the Dread Father and the Night Mother!" he turned abruptly, skipping and humming as he disappeared to wherever he kept the Night Mother, probably. I sighed, taking out my robes and heading for the washrooms to soak for a while. I was content, and peaceful. _Thanks to the kill, the mead and Cicero_, I felt a smile of a different kind spread over my face as I let myself sink a little deeper into the water with my eyes closed. What was this feeling, so sudden and new to me?

Astrid found me a short while after I came out of the natural caverns. She looked more than a little worried, and the urgency with which she seemed to call me before turning away and striding to her chambers annoyed me. I frowned, deliberately being careful with my things before I went to her chambers, and trying to get serious enough after my very mellow mood before making my way to where she leaned on a large table, a map of Skyrim staked to it with two steel and two iron daggers. "You called, Astrid?"  
She looked up, then flashed a lazy grin. "How did the first contract go?"  
I nodded, deciding to keep Nilsine's murder out of the conversation. "Very well. Muiri was pleased, and as you said, generous."  
"Very good," Astrid nodded, turning back to the map before straightening. "Alysa, there is a matter I want _you_ to take care of."  
"Alright," I agreed. Since when did I 'take care' of matters? I suppose I should be grateful for this…_ promotion_, but I can't say it was expected: I had been protected from the beginning, being the only 'new' recruit to have made it past my third contract in years. "Go on."  
"It's Cicero…" Astrid started, wary of my reaction for some reason. She also sounded a little exasperated. "While you were out on your contract, and ever since he arrived, really, his behavior has been…" Astrid sighed. "Well, erratic would be an understatement. I do believe he is truly mad. But it's worse than that."  
She stopped talking. Oh, I _hated_ it when she did this – this leading-on, around-the-bend kind of talk. "Tell me what he's done," I tried not to sigh.  
"He's taken to locking himself in the Night Mother's chamber, and talking," Astrid dropped her voice. "To someone. In hushed, but frantic tones."  
I frowned deeper. Cicero _did_ talk to himself sometimes; that much I gathered from the first time I saw him to now. I wondered briefly if Astrid knew that, but then, why tell her that? Surely she already realised he wasn't completely together… but I would do it: she _is_ my leader, after all…. "Are you sure you aren't just being a little too paranoid, Astrid?"  
She glared at me briefly, then turned away, rubbing her hands together. She started pacing. "A little healthy paranoia has kept this Family alive for as long as it has. I want to know what they're planning, Alysa. I fear treachery. As the Night Mother's Keeper, Cicero believes he's entitled to the rule of this Sanctuary. He will cite our independence as undisciplined, unruly and heretical. He will claim we must revert to the Old Ways. Ironically," Astrid sneered, "the Night Mother may be just as much a victim. The Queen in a fool's game of chess…."  
"What do you want me to do?" I said softly, coldly. I don't like spying on my Family; it was wrong in so many ways I cannot begin to explain: it felt like betrayal to me, and wasn't that in the Five Tenants? Something about betrayal was in them.  
"Dear Sister," Astrid said, turning to stand in front of me. "I need _you_ to steal into that chamber, eavesdrop on their conversation. Clinging to the shadows won't help you. They will surely see you…" she paused, thinking. _No, no don't ask me to do _that_, Astrid…._ "The Night Mother's coffin is an ideal place."  
I scowled, feeling my blood run cold. It was sacrilege! I might not have had much of an idea of what the Night Mother actually did for the Dark Brotherhood anymore, but she was a part of us, and what Astrid was asking was sacrilege! Never mind that no sane Nord would willingly climb into the same coffin as the dead! "When should I find him?" I asked instead, my voice low and steady. Astrid narrowed her eyes at me, realizing that something about her request was bothering me. She went on about how I had actually already missed Cicero today, and that I would have to hide tomorrow at least an hour before dinner in the Night Mother's coffin. I left feeling more than a little sour, and a little afraid of desecrating the Night Mother's coffin: it was foolish to disturb the dead, and especially one who was reputed to be supernatural.

* * *

Cicero went back to find Alysa after he looked after his sweet, dear Mother, but she – Alysa, not his Mother, although Mother was always sleeping – was sleeping! So peaceful, she looked, sweet Mother. Surely you bless her with cold dreams of death and murder! Yes! Cicero knows! Oh, Cicero can't help himself, sweet Mother! He just has to… Cicero padded closer to her bed, knelt next to her. So pretty, this little Nord woman! So fair, so fine…. Oh, that she were mine! Cicero giggled, but quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. Such a pretty creature, Mother. Blessed by our Dread Father as well, with her skill. Just one touch… that all Cicero wants. But what if she wakes up and she fights with poor Cicero again? Dear Cicero doesn't want that! No no no! He knows he will let her win, now. He will not fight back, just ask Alysa Ice-Wrath to stop fighting poor, sweet Cicero. That's all he would do. But he would like to fight _with_ her. Cicero sighs. He will _not_ touch her cheek, he will _not_ brush her hair away from her face… No, not Cicero. Maybe never Cicero. "Cicero is coming, sweet Night Mother," he whispers, standing and leaving dear Alysa. Perhaps one day he _might_ do all this, and more, for his Alysa. Perhaps. But now, now all this humble Fool of Hearts has is you, Unholy Matron.


	5. 5: Whispers in the Dark, Barely

**A/N:** Alrighty my lovelies, it's a long one, this chapter. And maybe a bit fluffy, dunno. It feels almost too fluffy to me, but hey, you're the readers and you get to decide how and what. I think it's a bit of a filler chapter, too:3 Whoa… epic confessions here tonight…. Oh well. I'd like to give a big **Thank You** to everyone who has reviewed so far; I really appreciate it! Kill well, and often:) (Though, maybe only in SkyrimO.o)

**Chapter 5: Whispers in the Dark, Barely**

I awoke to a fairly calm and good morning, although I wasn't sure why I was so very happy. I felt light, as though I might fly away any second. I wasn't sure if I liked the feeling, or if I even really knew what it was. I waited for Cicero to start talking, to say something to greet me. But there was nothing but silence that greeted me. I opened my eyes as I rolled over to lie on my back, folding my hands over my stomach. A strange pain throbbed in my heart, and I unconsciously rubbed it, frowning. What was it, that I felt that? I hoped I wasn't getting sick or something. I would have to ask Babette about it. The throbbing eased a little as my thoughts turned to more practical things, and I sauntered through the many rooms and corridors to the dining hall for breakfast. Veezara was there, and Festus very briefly before muttering something about a revelation and disappearing to where he practiced his magic. I took a bowl of some sort of stew or soup, and sat down across from the Argonian. Conversation was light, and I detailed again my contract with Alain, and the travelling. Veezara listened intently when I mentioned the Dwemer ruins, and he asked me hundreds of questions about them. Most had me simply gaping at him. I had no idea what he was talking about, and eventually he settled on asking me to mark it on his map later. Apparently he quite enjoyed exploring them, when he had the chance. We cleaned our bowls and I headed over to where I knew Babette would be busy with her potions. "Good Morning, Alysa!" Cicero called, skipping towards me and stopping just in front of me, leaning close until out noses almost touched. It was a little disconcerting, really. "Uhm… good morning, Cicero," I replied, using a lot of my will not to pull back, to take that one step backwards to see him properly. Suddenly Cicero straightened, cackling, then spun around in a circle, hands behind his back. "Good good good! The Fool of Hearts must make his start!" he danced and skipped away, and I couldn't help but feel a little bewildered and hurt that he had just disappeared. Again. I sighed, the faintest of smiles on my face anyway. I heard Babette chuckle softly, a wry half-smile on her child's face as she turned back to her alchemical apparatus. "What?" I asked, coming closer to watch her.  
"Oh, it's an interesting pair, but I think it will be good for both of you," she said, reaching to another table for some strange root I had never seen before.  
I frowned. "What, or who, is an interesting pair?"  
Babette froze, the knife she had just picked up hovering over the root. She looked incredulously at me. "Are you serious, Alysa?" she paused briefly, then turned back to cutting the root. "Whenever _he_ is near, you feel as if the world is kinder, safer. You can do anything and nothing can stop you, but as soon as he's gone, you feel lost, alone, and there's that ache right here," Babette stopped to touch where my heart was. The same place I had felt that dull throb this morning. Then she turned away, looking sad for a moment. "You only get an opportunity like this once in your life, Alysa. Use it, take it and never let it go."  
I was confused, a little angry about what the vampire child had told me, though I knew I had no reason to be. Had I really missed something so important about myself? I stalked away, and I thought I heard her mutter something like, "This is when I envy any mortal."  
Was what she was saying true, assuming I understood what she meant?

* * *

Ah, it is a fair day today! Cicero hasn't been outside yet, no no no! But he knows it is a fair day! He saw Alysa! He knows that he will have a good day, Mother! Oh, Cicero is happy…. He will come to oil you soon, Mother! It is almost time again for Mother to be cleaned, to glean with a wondrous sheen! "Cicero," a quiet voice – a cold voice – calls him. Oh, Dread Father! Is this what you felt for our Mother?  
"Yes, sweet Sister Alysa?" Cicero turns on his heels, his hands clasped behind – not in front! – of his back (Cicero wonders what it would feel like to clasp his hands in front of his back – he supposes it would be uncomfortable, since he can only clasp them in front of his body, which isn't in front of his back – though, it could be… but that's all very confusing to Cicero; he should stop thinking about that now). She looks confused, and hurt for some reason! Cicero will find whoever did that and turn them inside-out and make them do cartwheels! Wrap them in their intestines! Skip with them! Alysa frowns at Cicero: she sees him scowl. "Cicero was thinking of doing horrid things to mean people," he explains. "What can humble Cicero help you with?"  
Alysa pursed her lips. Such pretty lips…. "Would you train with me? If you can, that is –"  
"If Cicero can?! Cicero was an assassin just like you, too! Before he was Keeper! Then the Keeper must keep and not take like the Taker! Yes! Alysa is a Taker! Ah-ha ha ha ha!" Cicero laughs. Oh, that was clever of the Fool of Hearts! Alysa blinked, raising a brow at Cicero. He just smiles at her. "Very well, sweet Sister. Cicero will train with you. What would you like to start with? Cicero is best with the knife, and the sword, but he knows a little about martial arts and the bow. But not very much with the bow, not at all. Not an elf, you see, it was not to BE!"  
Alysa is close to laughing, Cicero sees, but she is interested too. She wants to know what Cicero knows. A little unbelieving, too, he thinks. "Come, Alysa! We shall train to avoid being slain!"  
"Fair enough," she agrees, walking next to happy Cicero to the training area. There we will take wooden swords, if she wants swords, or we will dance hand-to-hand, if she wants. Cicero isn't sure how much she knows, but he is sure there is much she can still learn. And he will teach her! Yes! And –  
"Veezara!" she called, greeting the Argonian. Cicero frowned _inside_, but smiled _outside_. This was _Cicero's_ time with Alysa… but maybe now he could see Alysa fight, and know what to teach her. Cicero knows he is good, fighting has saved him and Mother many times before, just never his Sanctuary. Cicero isn't listening to what they are saying, but he sees Veezara look at him. Blankly, like all Argonians do. Cicero wonders if they _can_ show emotion, but Cicero will never know – or maybe he just hasn't spent enough time with them to see what emotions they have. Cicero grins brightly for them, wishing he could have his sweet sister to himself.

* * *

"Veezara!" I called, greeting the Argonian. He was probably the only one of all the people of all the Beast races I could stand, really. The Shadowscale raised a hand in greeting, his tail-tip twitching all the time. He was already in the training area, and we often trained together. "Alysa! How are you today?"  
"I'm alright, especially after having completed my first _real_ contract!"  
"I heard that went well. Are you here to train?" Veezara asked, his eyes moving carefully between me and Cicero.  
I nodded. "Cicero and I are going to train."  
Veezara looked at Cicero, his face blank to someone who doesn't spend time with him, but I could see he was a little incredulous, just as I am about what exactly Cicero knows about fighting. "I see…" he eventually said, nodding slowly in a way only an Argonian could. I was glad Cicero was a little behind me, because I was wearing an expression that might have insulted him – I didn't really believe he knew all that much. Oh well, that's just the humor of it, not so? "Perhaps Cicero will watch first, it has been a long time since he has fought, so Cicero would like to refresh his memory."  
Veezara and I turned to look at Cicero, his face serious for once. But I could have sworn I saw a light glow in his eyes. I wasn't sure what it meant, but surely nothing good. Nothing _innocent_, at least – you'd have thought that a jester would be innocent, regardless of his occupation, but not this one…. I nodded, and turned back to the Shadowscale. "Hand-to-hand?" he checked.  
I nodded, bending by knees a little as we circled each other, the Argonian's tail swinging lazily from side to side. My fists were raised, at the ready, so was his. The world narrowed until it was just me, my opponent and our immediate environment. Everything happened quickly then: right fist, duck, left foot, rise, move, kick, block, attack and dodge. I felt myself move through all the positions easily, keeping up with Veezara, dodging his claws easier than I had the last time we trained. Then his tail whiplashed me from behind. I was going down, rolling to face him but he was already on me. We struggled for the upper-hand, and I was suddenly aware of Cicero moving then making himself stand still. Those precious seconds cost me a narrow victory. Veezara flipped me over onto my stomach, bending my left arm behind my back. I struggled briefly, but stopped when my shoulder started screaming in pain and Veezara's claws pricked my skin. "You're getting better, Alysa," the Shadowscale said, releasing me and standing. I rubbed arm, then shrugged my shoulder a few times before I stood up. I was a sour loser, especially in front of an audience. "You're still too distracted by other things. In a fast fight you do well, but something that lasts will kill you," the Argonian continued. I bit my tongue to stop from giving out snide remarks. I _knew_ that, now it was just a matter of _fixing_ that. I nodded curtly. "Cicero has an idea!"  
I glared at the jester. He seemed unfazed my glare, and Veezara seemed mildly interested. "Cicero will take you to Falkreath, and there Cicero thinks he can show you some things about concentrating, Alysa." He actually looked hopeful. What about, I wouldn't know. Veezara suddenly smiled. Apparently this was something 'older' assassins recognized. "Fine, let's go," I conceded, turning to Cicero.  
Cicero was nodding violently. I briefly wondered if he would kill himself nodding so hard. "First, Alysa must change into _normal_ clothes, not from the Dark Brotherhood! And Cicero must make sure the Night Mother is safe while he is gone, so Cicero will meet you outside the Door!"  
I sighed. "Fine, alright. I'll see you there." I watched Cicero skip away.  
Veezara chuckled softly. "I don't know what he has planned for you, Alysa, but I think you should try it," he said, then went on to practice more by himself. I stalked to my chest, digging in it for something vaguely resembling something halfway normal. I eventually found a dress at the very bottom, one of those the serving girls wore in taverns – thankfully not that very short, revealing thing some wore – with open shoulders. I shrugged, raising my brows as I pulled it out. It would surely still fit me.

I had managed to avoid each and every single member of the Family after I had put on the dress. I felt like an intruder, really. It was _horrible_. I felt exposed, vulnerable without my armor, and Dark Robes. I sat on a boulder outside, waiting for Cicero to come. I probably hadn't been here for long, but it felt like forever, and if he didn't arrive soon I was going back inside and nothing except a contract would get me out again. I was about to stand up when the door opened, and Cicero stepped out. He was still a jester – but dressed more like a normal person, and that ridiculous hat was gone, his auburn hair loose. I was struck speechless for a moment, thinking for just a moment that maybe, _maybe_ the jester I had come to know was gone: the Fool of Hearts was still inside the Sanctuary, and the man had come out. "What does Alysa think of Cicero? He feels too normal, but he must put the Fool of Hearts to one side for now."  
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, laughing and standing up. "You know, Cicero, for a moment there I thought you were someone else," I admitted. "But it looks good."  
Cicero beamed at me, clasping his hands at his heart. "Cicero is glad you like it!" he paused, looking torn for a moment as his eyes ran over me quickly. "Cicero would like to know… if you would link arms with Cicero while we walk to Falkreath City."  
I smiled. "I have a better idea."  
"Oh?"  
I motioned for him to follow me.

Cicero had been thoroughly pleased to see a horse, and mounted quickly once he had insisted on tacking up by himself, lifting me into the saddle in front of him easily. I felt unstable sitting sideways, and sharing a saddle with another person, although I was comforted by the fact that Cicero could apparently ride well. The crazy jester was full of surprises, as I quickly learnt. We made it to the city fairly quickly, Cicero singing some ridiculous song at the top of his lungs. Thrice-cursed bards…. But I couldn't help but feel happy, a feeling that wasn't natural to me, and left me feeling wary, and as if my senses were dulled at the same time. I was letting go of control, something I had rarely done before. We left my horse on the outskirts, and walked in. I almost expected Cicero to link arms with me, but he was just walking very close. He was too close, in fact. It made me a little uncomfortable. "Tell me, sweet sister," he whispered in my ear, "what would you like to do in this city with dear Cicero? Perhaps we should go prank the inn-keepers, or assassinate a random stranger for our Dread Father and Unholy Mother! Or we could dance, or run around Falkreath naked, but it's cold and Cicero would rather not do that, since he is an Imperial and he'll get very sick very quickly. But _you_ can, if you want – you _are_ a Nord…. Cicero will make sure the guards don't stop you," he giggled, his face still by my ear. I felt my face flood with warmth, something I couldn't remember having ever done, no matter what I had seen or done. "Let's maybe start with an assassination. Show me how it's done."  
Cicero chuckled, the sound almost sending shivers down my spine. I had never expected him to sound so… sinister. "Yes, sweet sister, Cicero will show you, and then _you_ will show _Cicero_."

He bounded off suddenly, and I wanted him close again, suddenly wishing I hadn't said anything. What had I just unleashed on this pitiful town? Then again, they could do with the excitement. We had wandered into a street market, and I watched Cicero approach a vendor. _What now?_ I thought, wandering to a jewellery stand for no reason other than it was closest. Cicero started talking animatedly with the shopkeep, his arms flying from side to side and brushing across the tabletop. I glanced down at the amulet in beneath my fingers, then again at the weapon stand. Cicero was gone – melting into the crowd. I suddenly realized he had swept one of the daggers in one of his wild gestures. He walked up behind a man whom I had once seen harass a girl not much younger than myself. He suddenly swayed in the thick of the crowd, and Cicero pushed past him. Then his auburn hair was gone. A woman screamed, blood on the front of her dress, all the way to the floor as the man had fallen to the ground against her and her knees gave in. I hadn't even _seen_ the kill. It just happened. And Cicero was gone. Everyone was gathering around the body, guards arriving on the scene shoving through the throng. A hand touched the small of my back, and I spun round, raising my knee and my left fist to punch. I was quickly subdued, held tightly to someone. "How did you think that went, Alysa?" Cicero asked, letting go of me as soon I calmed down a little. I frowned. No-one had _ever_ managed to sneak up on me before. "Cicero thinks you don't pay much attention to what is behind you," he continued as if he hadn't asked a question. "It was impressive. I didn't even see it –"  
"AH! That is your problem! Alysa doesn't _see_, she _glances_. Cicero knows you can do better than him, if you pay attention and learn. You could kill anywhere, anytime, even with a guard next to you." He grinned, a devilish fire in his steel-grey eyes. I narrowed my eyes. "Pick one, anyone in this city," I dared him. I would prove I was just as capable, and better because I wasn't the Keeper, I was out on contracts and I killed more often than he did – and until I knew some more of his story, I was sure I had killed more than him, anyway. Cicero looked over the crowd, and grinned. "That boy, sweet sister, is the one you must kill for Cicero," he said softly, pointing at a young man, perhaps a farmer from around here. Not that there was all too much to farm, unless you liked goats and cows. He seemed the least interested in the murder, even looking a little sick at the thought of a dead human. He carried a short iron sword with him, and he was heading out of Falkreath to the south. I followed him with my eyes, waiting a while longer before I followed him: I knew a shorter route out, and if he continued south he would come across me for sure. I listened to the world around me, and Cicero was somewhere further behind, waiting and watching. There was something of a sparse forest, and the area was hilly, rocky and not the best for a hapless, helpless woman in a dress. I passed a bush with blue berries, and crushed a few against my ankle, pleased with the blue stain on my skin. The road was just ahead and I could hear someone coming. I frowned at my blue-stained hand – my only give-away – then started running, clutching my skirts as I jumped over a few things, then crashed onto the road, feigning a fall.

* * *

Cicero will admit, she was clever with the berries. To pretend she was hurt! Very clever, but she fell soon after, and Cicero almost ran to help her when she cried out, holding her ankle carefully. Was Alysa really hurt? Or was she pretending? Cicero hoped she was pretending… the boy he pointed out to her came running to help. Cicero watched them talk, wasn't really listening because the boy was lifting her – arms around her small waist – and she was hiding her hand from him. The blue one, with the berry juice. Cicero watched her other hand trail over the boy's chest, and Cicero knew fury. Oh, sweet Night Mother stay humble Cicero's hand! He must let Alysa show him how she does it… so he knows how to show her better. Alysa was still touching him – the boy, not Cicero, though Cicero might have liked it if she touched Cicero – close to his sword, and she was smiling, talking softly and the boy looked bashful. Oh, Cicero likes that word! Bashful… as the Fool of Hearts should be! Cicero shakes his head, he must concentrate! Alysa's hand was around the hilt – oh, clever Nord woman! So very clever…. The boy didn't even have time to look shocked when she sliced right through his throat! And she smiled at him, so sweetly, so darkly! Ooh-hoo! She is cold, cruel! Just as a True Assassin should be! She turns to Cicero, her face and top of her dress a little bloody. Well, very bloody. "Cicero commends you on your kill, sweet Sister, and he thinks we should ride back. Cicero thinks you are a gifted assassin, much worthier than that…" he stops himself from singing her praise: he doesn't know how much Alysa likes Astrid.  
"So much worthier than who?" she asked dear Cicero, coming closer after she dropped the sword. "Be honest with me, Cicero."  
"Much worthier than that harlot-pretender, Astrid," Cicero spat. How dare she mock the Night Mother and her Keeper? Alysa smiled, chuckling wryly. But she shook her head and walked on past Cicero. What did that mean? That Alysa agreed? "What do you think of that, Alysa?"  
"Me?" she turned, pointing at herself. Cicero was about to say Who Else when she went on. "I think Astrid is a little too attached to her way of doing things, but then, it _has_ kept this Family alive, while none of the others have made it…" she paused, walking through the forest with Cicero right behind. Oh, she was so pretty…. "I guess I don't know what it had been like to have a Listener, and how things had been before. Tell me about the Night Mother, and the Listener, and everything as it had been, Cicero. I want to know what the Dark Brotherhood is now missing."

So Cicero told her: the Listener listened to the Night Mother, when she heard the prayers the normal people prayed in the Black Sacrament, and how the Listener would come to be again once The Words were spoken. Cicero told Alysa about the Speakers, the fingers to the Black Hand, where the Listener was the thumb, and how the five children the Night Mother killed for Sithis was kept alive that way. Though, Cicero supposes, once it's dead it's always dead, unless they serve the Dread Father in the Void. Alysa listened, Alysa learned and Cicero thinks she might join him in his plan for later. But Cicero will see.

* * *

I was still processing everything Cicero had told me when we eventually got around to our side of Falkreath again, and rode back to the Sanctuary. If all of what he said was even halfway true, shouldn't this remaining Family search for the Listener? Shouldn't we be recruiting more members, maybe taking young ones who showed promise and raise them to be one of us? Honorhall would be full of young children we could mould and shape into the perfect assassin. Wouldn't that ensure our survival, along with reverting to the Old Ways? I didn't – couldn't – know, and it seems things went backwards after a Listener in the third era disappeared when some portal opened in the Niben Bay. Maybe one day I would travel south and see of this portal was still there, and find out about why the Listener left Tamriel, and what was on the other side. Cicero couldn't tell me much about it: just that it had been a strange island that had appeared and never really gone away, and no-one went in. It was too much for me to think about, and when we arrived at the Door a little after dusk, we were still silent. Cicero bade me a merry night of murder, and disappeared down a separate passage. I slapped my hand to my forehead: I still hadn't spied on Cicero's mystery conversation. What's to say he wasn't just talking to himself or the Night Mother, in the hopes she would talk to him? I was more convinced now than before that was exactly what he was doing.


	6. 6: The Listener? Me? You're Kidding

**A/N:** Hu-zzah! (Yes, it's my new favorite word, bite me!XD) Here is another chapter in record time! After you've reviewed, may the Dread Father guide your blade. Or pen.

**Chapter 6: The Listener? Me? You've Got to be Kidding**

Ah, sweet Night Mother, your humble Cicero had so much trouble containing himself today! Oh, to see his Alysa in that dress… oh he had _wanted_ her there and then! He had been so taken with how beautiful this assassin looked he could barely think! He felt as if he had been stabbed! In the chest! And his stomach! With a burning red-hot dagger! But it was such a pleasant, wonderful feeling! But also so horrible at the same time…. Oh, Cicero had to tack up the horse to calm himself down, do something because he needed to think of something else. Cicero liked the way the belt fit around her waist, and the cut of the dress's bodice…. "There, Mother. All finished now!" Cicero puts the oils away, coming back to the now, although Now isn't a place, so Cicero can't leave or come back, and closes the Night Mother in her standing coffin. He locks it, too: no one can defile the Night Mother! Not while the Keeper is here! He will not allow it! Cicero tidies the room and oils and other necessary things to keep the Night Mother ready for the Listener. "Will Mother still not speak to Cicero? Not even if you, oh Unholy Matron, take the laughter, the jester? Cicero would do anything, _ANYTHING_ to earn this honor! Oh, Mother, sweet and loving Mother, Cicero knows he can still save the Family, he can still bring back the Old Ways!" Humble Cicero waited for the Night Mother to speak. But she didn't, and Cicero is beginning to think she won't. Who will be Keeper after Cicero? He makes his way to his private chambers, bathing and eating by himself, his room is just outside the Night Mother's room, and his bed is in the passage between the Night Mother and his chambers. Cicero supposes they're not very private, since there is one door that goes STRAIGHT through, and if he doesn't close it, anyone looks in. but at least the passage curves and turns, so they don't see his bed immediately – or his dining room, for that matter. It gets lonely sometimes when it's just Cicero to eat… but the Night Mother will always keep him company! And he will always keep _her_ company. There's another reason why Cicero locks his chambers, too: it stops that harlot and her lumbering lapdog from defiling the Unholy Night Mother! And Cicero has no doubt that they would do it if they were given half a chance….

Cicero thinks about Alysa: she had been so taken with the Old Ways she hadn't said another word to poor Cicero. Just a quick Good Night, that's all. Oh what must Cicero do?! He doesn't think she will accept his claim, for the Fool of Hearts is just that: a fool. But maybe she will think differently…. But Cicero won't know if he doesn't say. Cicero must see if he can tell Alysa about this…. Cicero lay down on top of his bed, his fingers laced together under his head. He wished he could stare at the stars. He remembers a time when he had slept under the stars….

* * *

"Dammit!" I breathed, my hands shaking. I couldn't hold the picks properly; couldn't get the lock open that kept the Night Mother inside. I shook my head, breathed deep and closed my eyes briefly. _I can do this_, I started again, breathing a sigh of relief when the lock clicked open. Thank Sithis the coffin was upright, and the lock was built into the coffin. I pried it open, and flinched at the thought of the sacrilege I was doing. I stepped in anyway, and shut the door behind me. I was much too close to this husk of a woman's corpse, and although she smelt of nothing – maybe pine oil, and frankincense and myrrh – she was still the Night Mother, and her gaping mouth and head cocked to one side was frightening in the light, and now I was shut in the dark, almost chest to chest with her. It was _wrong_. I put my hands out on either side of her to stabilise myself, and closed my eyes – or at least I thought I did: it was still black either way – and breathed deeper, forcing myself to calm down and think of the day that had passed.

Festus and Gabrielle had left sometime after I left on my trip with Cicero, and Veezara had left in the morning. Babette wasn't particularly interested on feeding to endure the daylight, so Nazir had sent me out on a minor contract. Close-by, easy kill. Well, I charged the victim from behind with my horse and cut him down. When I heard he was still moaning I rode over him. Can't say the horse was pleased about it, but I _had_ been allowed to kill as I pleased. I was out on a road about a morning's hard ride away, and I needed to get back to spy on Cicero. Otherwise I would have taken my time, enjoyed the kill. Damn Astrid and her paranoia! I had better things to do. I really didn't want to do this, but I could only avoid Astrid for so long, and I doubted I would be able to come up with a convincing lie in time that explained everything. So, I was here, in the Night Mother's coffin, waiting for Cicero to come in. I had never been to this part of the Sanctuary before. I hadn't really known it existed until now, either – otherwise I would have claimed the spacious area for myself. And I now knew where Babette slept as well: only a vampire can sleep on a stone bed. _Oh wel,_. I sighed softly, breathing deeper as I finally started relaxing. I was still burning the adrenaline from the chase, the kill and the ride, and it wasn't helping my nerves. I hope Astrid had another valid excuse for making me do this other than her un-assassin-ly paranoia. Ridiculous.

I kept my eyes closed, leaning harder on my hands against the back of the coffin as I conjured up an image of Cicero's face. He was an attractive Imperial, at least to me. His steel-grey eyes especially got to me, so far. _I am in love with Cicero,_ I finally admitted to myself. It felt good, so I repeated it in my head. _I am in love with Cicero._ I grinned. _And I'm in the Night Mother's coffin,_ the random thought popped into my head and I sniggered silently, the idea suddenly was very funny. What would Cicero do if I spoke from _inside_ the coffin? I swallowed my laughter immediately when I heard humming and the door being closed, but not locked. I wondered why, briefly, but then, I might not have heard the almost silent 'click'. But now I needed to spy. Cicero kept humming, busying himself in the room. I almost wanted to know what he was doing, exactly. But then he started speaking. "Sweet solitude," Cicero sighed. I wondered if that was how he felt with me…. "Everything is going according to plan. The others… I've spoken to them. And they're coming around, I know it. The wizard, Festus Krex… perhaps even the Argonian, and the un-child…. Cicero does like her, strange one that, and," he paused, "Alysa…" he breathed, softly, sweetly as if my name was a rare honey to him. It warmed my otherwise cold heart, really. Made me smile to think I meant so much to someone else, for once in my life. It also frightened me a little. "What about you? Have you… have you spoken to anyone?" Cicero moved, waiting for a response that evidently didn't come. He continued a little bitterly. "No…. No, of course not. _I_ do the _talking_, the _stalking_, the _seeing_ and _saying_! And what do _you_ do? _Nothing_!" Cicero hissed. I could almost see him pace. He sighed, amending himself. "Not… not that I'm angry! No, never! Cicero understands. Heh," he laughed uneasily, nervously. "Cicero _always_ understands! And obeys! You will talk when you're ready, won't you? Won't you… sweet Night Mother?"

_"Poor Cicero. Dear Cicero. Such a humble servant. But he will never hear my voice. For he_ _is_ not _the_ Listener_…."_

I froze, wide-eyed and ready to bolt. I hadn't heard anyone else enter, and Cicero wasn't responding to that. He continued his soliloquy about defending the Night Mother and exerting her will. _Surely she hasn't spoken to _me, _has she?_ I wondered, relaxing again. Cicero was moving around a lot in outside.  
_"Oh, but I _will_ speak. I will speak to_ you_. For _you _are the one,"_ The woman's voice continued. _Me?_ I thought wildly. _"Yes, you. You, who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones. I give you this task - journey to Volunruud. Speak with Amaund Motierre."_  
I wasn't really listening to Cicero anymore, although I heard what he said next, how he despaired. "Poor Cicero has failed you! Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet Mother. I've tried, so very hard! But I just can't find the Listener!"  
_How can I convince him _I_ am the Listener? Do I really even know what that means?  
__"Tell Cicero the time has come. Tell him the words he has been waiting for, all these years: 'Darkness rises when silence dies.'"_ The Night Mother went silent, and I repeated the words: _Darkness rises when silence dies._ _"You are meant to be, Listener Alysa…"_ she whispered, her voice fading to the Void. I gasped as I fell out of the coffin into Cicero's arms, which quickly dropped me once I had been pulled aside. I had never been afraid before, but this jester's fury was something to behold. I shifted, desperately wanting to scoot away but unwilling to show just how scared I was. "_What_? What treachery! Defiler! Debaser and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother's tomb! Explain yourself! Speak, worm!"  
His words cut and burned. "Wait, Cicero, I can explain–"  
"Cicero _trusted_ you–"  
"Cicero, please–"  
"Called you _friend_–" he started growling, pulling a knife.  
"She spoke to me! The Night Mother spoke to me!" I exclaimed, scooting away from him.  
Cicero paused his advance. "She… _spoke_ to you?" he looked hopeful for a moment. "More treachery! More trickery and deceit! You lie! The Night Mother speaks only to the Listener! And there _is. No. LISTENER_!"  
Cicero continued. I finally remembered the words and screamed them out.

"'Darkness rises when silence dies!'"

The entire Sanctuary seemed to go silent. Cicero froze, his expression turning from outrage to awe. "She... she said that? She said those words... to you? _'Darkness rises when silence dies'_?" I nodded quickly. "But those are _The Words_. The _Binding Words_. Written in the Keeping Tomes. The signal so I would know. Mother's only way of talking to sweet Cicero…." I was suddenly hoisted up and into Cicero's arms as he spun me round and round in a maniacal dance. "Oh! Forgive Cicero! Forgive, please, Alysa! He was wrong to attack you! Then... it is true! She is back! Our Lady is back! She has chosen a Listener! She has chosen you! Ha ha ha! All hail the Listener!" he finished, shrieking. I wasn't sure if I should laugh, cry or scream in terror. So I opted for a nervous laugh. Right then Astrid burst into the room, her dwarven sword in hand as she wrenched me free from Cicero. "By Sithis, this ends now! Back away, fool! Whatever you've been planning is over!" She held her sword out in Cicero's direction, pulling me behind her, quizzing me briefly as she kept her sharp gaze on Cicero. "Are you all right? I heard the commotion. Who was Cicero talking to? Where's the accomplice? Reveal yourself, traitor!"  
"I spoke only to the Night Mother! I spoke to the Night Mother, but she didn't speak to me. Oh no. She spoke only to _her_! To the _Listener_! To _ALYSA_!" Cicero pointed at me, dancing on the spot and jumping up and down. Astrid stepped to one side to look at both of us. I let my face go blank as I tried to process everything. "_What_?" Astrid looked between me and Cicero. "The_ Listener_? What are you going on about? What is this lunacy?"  
"Lunacy?! It's true, it's true! The Night Mother has spoken! The silence has been broken! The Listener has been _chosen_!" Cicero started dancing and cavorting where he was, and Astrid pulled me aside.  
"Then what in Sithis' name is going on? Cicero spoke to the Night Mother, but she spoke to you? Is this just more of the fool's rambling?" she asked quietly.  
"She spoke to me. He really was just talking to the Night Mother," I glanced at Cicero and the coffin behind Astrid. I couldn't help myself: I smirked. "Apparently I am the Listener."  
"What? So Cicero wasn't talking to anyone else. Just… the _Night Mother's body_? And the Night Mother, who, according to everything we know, will only speak to the person chosen as Listener… just spoke. Right now… to you?"  
I looked back at Astrid, and nodded. "She told me to find an Amaund Motierre in Volunruud."  
"Amaund Motierre? I have no idea who that is. But Volunruud... that I have heard of. And I know where it is."  
"So am I going?" I asked, mostly out of years of respecting Astrid. She looked very… _pensive_.  
"Hmm? No. _No__!_ Listen, I don't know what's going on here, but _you_ take your orders from _me_. Are we clear on that? The Night Mother may have spoken to you, but _I_ am still the leader of this Family. I will _not_ have my authority so easily dismissed. I… I need time to think about all this. Go see Nazir – do some work for him. I'll find you when I'm ready to discuss the matter further," she waved her hands at me dismissively, but she was the one who walked out of the room, sheathing her blade. I shook my head. _She's giving up a chance to make us respected,_ feared, _again,_ I thought. I didn't know where Volunruud was, but I could find out while I was out doing minor contracts. In my musings I hadn't noticed Cicero was standing almost nose-to-nose with me. I blinked a few times when I saw him so close, with that ridiculously broad and happy grin plastered all over his face. "You are the Listener! You are the Listener!" he sang softly, watching my reaction. He still seemed sorry about his attack earlier.  
I smiled gently. "Yes. I am the Listener, Cicero. And I forgive you."  
Cicero beamed at me, straightening and looking sheepish. I wondered what he was thinking.

* * *

Cicero was looking at his Listener! She was his Listener! Oh, sweet Mother, Cicero has served you well! To choose one so bold, so deadly, so cunning and so beautiful as Listener…. Now Cicero must just deal with the _harlot_. She will pay for defying the Listener! Oh, Alysa is so pretty when she smiles like that…. Cicero feels his heart pounding. What will she do if…? Cicero steps closer. _Such a little Nord, so fine…_. She looks a little surprised. Cicero doesn't want to send her away, never. He wonders if he should touch her face, if she is as soft as he thinks she will be. "Alysa!" Babette called, and his Listener stepped backwards, away. _Damn the un-child!_ Cicero's fingers curled into a fist, his shoulders slumped. "Coming, Babette!" the Listener called back. "I'll see you around, Cicero."  
"Of course, Listener," Cicero dips his head.  
Alysa scowled. "I'm still Alysa, Cicero. You really don't have to call me the Listener."  
"Cicero knows. But the un-child is calling, sweet Sister, dear Listener."  
Alysa pursed her lips. She didn't _want_ to leave! She wants to stay here, Cicero realizes! But she nods, backs out, and looks over her shoulder twice before she disappeared. "ALYSA!"  
"Dammit, Babette! I said I was _coming_!"

Cicero laughed. Still the same Alysa, but now _Listener_ Alysa.


	7. 7: Life Goes On

**A/N:** Ok, I'll be honest: I thought I'd already posted this one, since I'm almost done with chapter 8XD Haha, oh well. Enjoy, and I look forwards to your reviews. Oh, and Tawarthion is another of my Dragonborn characters (I have two:)). May your blade always strike true. (Fighter's Guild, maybe? (The greeting))

**Chapter 7: Life Goes On (I'll be Right Here Waiting for You)**

Babette had called because she had been so eager for me to try out a new poison she had made. She babbled on excitedly about its effects, a fairly slow-working poison, better to use in food, but one with 'marvellous effects', to quote Babette. It slowly did ice damage while simultaneously driving the victim crazy – something about it being a strong hallucinogenic with Skooma and Moon Sugar being the main ingredients for that particular effect. I looked skeptically at the bottle, and asked her if she had any antidotes for even half the poisons she made. Babette had clicked her tongue at me, and impatiently explained that she didn't need to have any because she knew how to cure it. Then she had given me a menacingly toothy grin and told me she had shared all of her important information with me. I had shaken my head and wandered through the Sanctuary looking for Nazir. He had given me three contracts scattered throughout the breadth of Skyrim. I would be gone for almost seven months, even with a horse. I gathered as much info about my targets as I could. I ate with the remaining members, and wished Cicero would join us. I didn't say anything, though, and I suspected Babette knew what I was thinking when I looked at her and she smiled gently at me. Nazir had made a sharp remark about Babette getting soft, and vampire and Redguard debated and shared insults until they both burst out laughing. I drowned myself in my sixth or eighth tankard of mead, and slammed it down on the table reasonably good-naturedly. Nazir and Babette both stared at me for a moment. "Try not to be too loud," I said, my way of saying good night, then stood and trudged up the stairs a little unsurely before I collapsed onto my bed. _Thank the Night Mother,_ I thought, as Babette and Nazir agreed to sit somewhere else.

* * *

I rubbed my temples in the washroom the next morning. Why did I _always_ drink too much mead? If an enemy wanted to best me, they only needed to get me drunk and wait for morning. I was almost useless past the throbbing. I dunked my head in the cool water, and blew bubbles after a while. When I came up again, I felt a little better.  
I wrung the water out of my hair a final time as I padded barefoot down the passage, my boots tucked under my arm, armor already donned. I found a sleepy Babette and asked her to plait my hair quickly. She grumbled about 'daywalkers' but plaited my hair in record time while I pulled on my boots. I could only assume she had used her vampire powers, and was already making herself comfortable on the stone slab. I frowned at her, but smiled after a few seconds: only a vampire could be like this. I returned to my bed, strapping on my daggers, quiver and slung my bow on my back. I kept my hood and cowl down for now. There was one person I _had_ to say goodbye to, one person I wanted to see before I left. I let my feet find the path, and knocked softly on the door. "Cicero?" I called, stepping in. The Night Mother's coffin was closed again, but I somehow doubted it was locked. "Cicero?" I called again, coming deeper into the room. For the first time I noticed a narrow corridor to another room.  
"Listener?" Cicero answered, appearing from around a corner. He was wiping his hands on a cloth. He grinned brightly, bouncing on the spot. "Cicero was making breakfast! Would the great and honorable Listener join humble Cicero?"  
I half-grinned, unable to really look him in the eye. I was undecided. I needed to get on the road as soon as possible. "I wish I could, but –"  
"Cicero understands the Listener has important duties to –"  
"Keeper!" I interrupted. Cicero blinked. "Enough. Listen," I stopped when Cicero sniggered. I joined in briefly, realizing where he found irony. "I'm leaving today, on a few contracts and I won't be back for… well, a while." I felt sheepish, having blurted it all out at once. Cicero had put the cloth down on a table, nodding vigorously all the while. _It's a wonder that jester's cap doesn't fall off,_ I thought absently. Cicero was swaying closer, arms behind his back with his legs stock-straight. "Humble Cicero wishes the Listener luck and happy kills, though he knows your skill is… da-da dada! Unmatched!"  
I rolled my eyes, smirking to the side. I wished for a moment I was a little taller to not look up at him so much. "Come with me," I suddenly blurted, clapping a hand to my mouth as soon as I said it. Cicero gave me a strange look. Might as well continue, since I had started it. "The closest is less than a week's ride away, and you could take my horse back to the Sanctuary…" I stopped, turning my gaze to the floor, and feeling like an idiot. Had I not promised myself years ago that I would do my best to _not_ care about someone else?  
"Cicero would _love_ to accompany the Listener! Keeper and Listener, on the hunt!" he looked wistful. I almost thought he'd say yes. "But Cicero is Keeper, and he must keep the Night Mother," he cautiously laid his hands lightly on my arms, something I usually wouldn't allow, something he had noticed even in the short time we had known each other. "But Cicero will be right here, waiting for his honored Listener to return. Cicero swears it on his life to the Listener! Oh, he hopes to die a horrid death if he fails you, Listener Alysa! Just promise humble Keeper Cicero one thing." He held up one finger, brows raised for effect.  
I nodded, my face smooth despite my desire to roll my eyes and smirk. "Of course."  
"Come back." Cicero grinned, his steel-grey eyes gleaming as he let me go and backed away, then bowed. "Hunt well, O mighty Listener! May the Night Mother watch over you!"  
Warmth blossomed in my heart. "And over you, Keeper," I backed away as he had, unwilling to look away just yet. Cicero just stood there, head cocked to one side with his hands once again folded behind his back when I finally turned. It was going to be a long time on the road.

* * *

Cicero spent the next week thinking about Listener Alysa, and how she had asked Cicero to hunt with her! Oh, what a surprise it had been! Cicero wanted to go – he really did – but Mother was still his responsibility. The Keeper kept – and Cicero was Keeper. He thinks Alysa feels the same about him, the way she had kept staring at him…. "Oh, sweet Mother, watch over your Listener and bring her back to the Sanctuary – she is the One, after all, and it would – and Cicero says this humbly – please dear Cicero, too, Mother." Cicero steps back, carefully looking for a spot he missed. "All finished, Mother. All clean!" Cicero clapped, giggling and dancing for his Unholy Matron. Ah, for the Old Ways he lived!

* * *

Little less than a week later I arrived at Half-Moon Mill, around late afternoon. I greeted the man I presumed was Hern, and after introductions and confirmation he _was_ Hern, I asked for a place to stay for the night. He had pursed his lips, but finally agreed. His wife came out of the house shortly after, watching me suspiciously the whole time the vampire helped me settle my steed. I breathed deep, concentrating on what I was doing. Babette made wonderful practice to keep my heart beat evenly, and she had pointed out every minor change in my initial training sessions with her. I couldn't afford to give away my knowledge of his true nature. These vampires were obviously well-fed to walk in the daylight for even short periods of time, and I wondered how exactly they managed it, considering even one vampire could struggle to keep itself out of trouble. I would have to wait for late night, early morning: vampires trying to live like people would sleep around then, I presumed. _What a delicious kill_, I thought, half-smiling to myself. An awkward dinner followed, and I could tell the vampires were having a hard time forcing themselves to eat the food. I pretended not to notice, instead showering the couple with compliments about Hert's wonderful cooking skills – she really was quite good, despite being a vampire. She was still wary of me, so flattery wasn't going to get me through it, but it seemed to have softened Hern to me. They set up a spot for me on a couch, and both got into their bed a short while later. I deepened my breathing, focusing on slowing myself down as Babette had taught me. I probably wouldn't sleep much tonight, but I planned on a late night or early morning kill. Both, quickly and quietly. I didn't need a she-vampire chasing me across Skyrim. I dozed for several hours, then I decided it was time. I slowly sat up, swinging my legs over the side and held my head in my hands as if I was just waking up, in case one or both were watching me. I listened to their breathing, but it was gentle, deep. Babette could do that so easily it was eerie… I was glad there was a vampire in my Family. I looked over my shoulder. They held each other in their sleep. _And so shall they in death and the Void,_ I thought. I rose silently, fluidly drawing my daggers as I stalked closer. Whichever one I killed first would alert the other… and coincidently Hern was closest. _Sithis take you.  
_The second I cut his throat Hert was awake, and before she could latch her claws around my neck she too found her throat cut, a dagger in her heart, too. I was covered in blood. The sheets, the bed and even some of the floor was pooling in blood. They had more than enough victims to go out during the day. I was glad I hadn't worn my armor, though the plain tunic was beyond ruined.  
I went outside to the trough with soap and my armor and stripped down, quickly scrubbing the blood off of me and dressed, shivering once in the cold. "I'm glad I'm a Nord," I muttered, and gathered my things from inside. It would be might soon, and I might as well get going: Morthal was a good ride away, and I wasn't planning on cutting across the country just yet.

* * *

Those rumors I heard about the Dragonborn being a Bosmer woman… they were lies. I saw the real Dragonborn in action two weeks after Half-Moon Mill, half-an-hour's ride south of Rorikstead. _He_ was an Altmer, and a skilled Destruction mage, too. Festus might have liked him.

I had been just off the road to avoid Penitus Oculatus agents. They were a little more active on the roads for some reason, and they knew what to look for where the Dark Brotherhood was concerned… I'd have to be more careful. I had been minding my own business when I heard a roar; the kind I could only imagine was that of a dragon. I maneuvered my steed a little further out of the brush I was in to see the beast circling in the sky, shouting faint words followed by fire coming from its mouth. I'd never seen anything so big before…. The Altmer was fearless in his attack – Destruction magic flying from his hands and meeting the dragon squarely while a Nord companion fired her bow at the creature, guards doing the same. At least I had the sense to dump my pack in the brush before dismounting to help: I might not have been a true fighter, but I'll be damned if I let a dragon go by unconquered. My horse charged wildly towards the dragon, and it swooped down. I threw myself down, rolling out of the way as my horse was lifted, screaming as talons gouged its sides. I gasped: the dragon tore my horse apart and set it alight. I was vaguely aware that my horse wasn't quite as well looked-after as I had promised it to be. The dragon was coming back, and crash landed; the earth shaking as the bloodied creature ploughed to a halt. Then the Altmer shouted strange words, three of them, by the sound of it, and the dragon roared at him. I stood, drawing my daggers and running for the head. The Altmer was too far for the guards or his companion to save him. I was the closest. He was flung to the ground, the dragon's massive green head hovering over the elf on the ground, ready to kill. I jumped, stabbing both daggers into the beast's neck, just as its mouth opened and the Altmer shouted, "Fus, ro dah!"  
The dragon's head snapped back, and I felt a faint force blow me backwards, wrenching my daggers free. The dragon then started burning. I scrambled away, torn between watching it burn and watching something flow into the Dragonborn, lying on the ground in his steel armor, his back arched and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. It continued until the dragon was burned to the bone, a few larger scales on the ground. The Nord woman jogged closer as the Dragonborn pushed himself to his elbows. "Tar! Are you alright?" she called.  
_Tar? Maybe a nickname?_ I thought, scrunching my face beneath my hood and cowl. I looked over to where my horse lay in burnt and bloody pieces. _Damn_.  
"Yes, Uthgerd, I'm alright," the Dragonborn replied, standing and dusting himself. I hadn't yet seen his face properly. When he turned to me, I was glad for my cowl because my jaw slacked. He had at least five long scars over his face: three diagonally to his left down over his lips, and another one from under his right eye over his nose, and a short one just above that one on his left cheek. I had never seen anything quite like it before; that he had survived was a miracle. "Thank you, Stranger. That was perfect timing you had, and skill. I'm sorry about your horse," he looked over to the parts.  
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. "It's not your fault: _you_ didn't call the dragon."  
The elf grinned a little wryly. "Dragons find me wherever I go: it's part of being Dovahkiin. Dragonborn," he added when I drew my brows together. I nodded slowly, my eyes still on his scars. He had a tattoo or paint marking over his left eye in red, too, but I barely noticed it past the scars and long autumn-colored hair. He touched his mouth, covering the scars for long enough to allow me to make eye contact with him. "I'll be back," I said, wiping my blades on the grass and quickly running to get my pack. Might as well spend the night in Rorikstead, and start cutting across the country in the morning. Sithis knew it would take even longer to finish my contracts now. _Night Mother, if it's in your power, a blessing from you to speed my journey would be welcome, and very appreciated,_ I thought, shouldering my pack after I shifted my bow and quiver to my hip. I walked back to find the elf talking heartily with the guards, lifting their spirits as he explained his ability to Shout. I suddenly realized the words he and the dragon had spoken were some of the Words of Power everyone seemed to be experts on lately. When he saw me come closer he dipped his head, his golden eyes shining. "I'm Tawarthion," he said, holding out a gloved hand.  
I took it, nodding. "Alysa Ice-Wrath," I replied coolly.  
The Nord woman just looked me over. "My companion is Uthgerd the Unbroken," Tawarthion said. Uthgerd nodded curtly, extending a hand.  
"Good to meet you," I said. Curiosity got the better of me, so asked about the Bosmer Dragonborn as we walked to Rorikstead, Tawarthion and Uthgerd leading their horses. The Altmer had laughed, saying he'd heard about her but that was about as far as it had gone. She wasn't really Dragonborn, as far as he knew. He was amiable, really. But I somehow suspected he was just as capable of cruel anger as well. His bearing was just that of a kind of assured power, like that of one who had seen much and rarely – if ever – lost a fight. We checked into the inn at Rorikstead, and I changed out of my armor after I had been given warm clothes to wear. Apparently we were heroes for defeating the dragon. An interesting sensation, to be honest. Tawarthion had invited me to dine with him and his companion, and I was pleasantly surprised that he wasn't as aristocratic as I had thought he was. He was still an elf, and an Altmer on top of it. I found him in mage's robes when I left my room, tucked away in a dark corner of the inn, and Uthgerd was nowhere to be seen. I padded over after I ordered a tankard of mead, and we spoke about dragons for a long time before the conversation turned to magic. "I heard Destruction trainers are stingy with teaching, and skeptical of different ways of doing things. They're set in their ways of doing it," I touched my chin instinctually, but there wasn't a cowl to pull up.  
Tawarthion frowned. "I've never experienced that before. Who told you that?"  
I thought of how Festus had described himself. "A rather grumpy but very skilled uncle of mine," I replied, smirking into my tankard. I usually ordered the cheapest mead to save on travel costs and my health, but I had been indulged this time. Uthgerd sat down on the other side of the elf, sighing happily as she sipped what smelled like ale. Tawarthion was swirling a wine in a goblet. _Elves and their wines…_ I thought. Tawarthion nodded thoughtfully about my comment. "How did you get those scars?" I asked, ignoring the Nord woman's glare and the mage's mildly surprised look.  
"It's a long story, and not a particularly pleasant one."  
_Fine, then,_ I thought when I realized that was all he was going to say. I was about to ask another question when a courier came in, calling for attention. "Is a Tawarthion here?" he asked, holding a letter and looking around. The Altmer stood and walked closer. "Yes, that's me," he said, taking the letter and handing the courier a few coins.  
"Lisette sends her regards," the courier finished, then left. When the elf turned, his face was bright and beaming as he stared at the handwriting on the front and back.  
"Oh, for all your years you're a love struck fool, Tar," Uthgerd play-chided, grinning as she chuckled.  
Tar rolled his eyes when he joined us again. "I'm really not that old, but love struck I am."  
"How old is 'not that old'?" I asked, raising a brow.  
"Well, I'm two-hundred and fifty-three in Sun's Dusk, which is…" he thought for a moment.  
"Next month," Uthgerd added. I nodded: the year was going quickly.  
"No, not _that_ old at all," I drawled sarcastically. Tar sniggered, staring at the envelope. The door opened, and Uthgerd narrowed her eyes at whomever had walked in. I turned my head slightly, then stiffened. Two Penitus Oculatus agents had just walked in, boisterous and looking to get drunk. If they thought to search belongings they would find me. The worst was that I didn't even have my daggers in easy to each places – one was strapped to my boot, the other in my pack, with the rest of my daedric things. "Not a fan of the Empire either," Tar said softly, a hard note in his voice when he looked up.  
"Not in the slightest," I replied, divining the end of my mead in the depths of the tankard.  
"I'll drink to that," Uthgerd said. We raised our tankards and goblet in silent toast, and I wondered why an Altmer would dislike the Empire. After all, they _owned_ it by now. So I asked. Tar sighed, leaning back in his chair as he turned the envelope in his long fingers, stretching his long legs under the table. Cicero might have been tall next to me, but this mage had me almost dwarfed. "I used to stand with the Empire and even the Thalmor, before I learned about the wars and skirmishes and raids on defenceless villages and towns, and unnecessary killings in the name of pleasure. By the Nine, I even stood for the Thalmor until a few years ago; they could put an end to all violence – or at least that's what they told us on Sommerset Isle," he noticed my eyes narrowing. "My kind has suffered as much at the hands of Men as Men have suffered at the hands of Mer, Alysa. I digress," he paused, his golden eyes meeting mine again. It was eerie, really; the color. Unnatural. "The Thalmor waged the Great War after taking Valenwood, and it finally ended with the White-Gold Concordat, as you know. Things went well and I was proud to be Altmer, proud to be of a nation that could lay claim to all of Tamriel as easily as we had. But then I heard whispers in the dark from what my kin perceive to be lesser Mer, from Men and Beast races as well. Talos was banned, and at first it wasn't really enforced. But then it changed: people's homes were raided, shrines destroyed and families separated. Then I heard about people who disappeared in the night, never to be seen or heard from again. I knew only an Altmer mage could steal someone like that, and Thalmor agents confirmed it in their dealings with others. The more I heard, the more was revealed to me, and especially so since I left for Skyrim. I decided it was enough," he looked out over the inn. "Not that I fully agree with Ulfric Stormcloak either, mind you. Skyrim doesn't just belong to the Nords: she belongs to all who call her home. But if he can win the war, and drive out the Thalmor, it can become a very real possibility to end the Aldemeri Dominion, to end the fear all people feel," he finished, straightening and stretching.  
I nodded: he sounded like an idealistic poet. "Well said. If ever you find yourself looking for another occupation, I think being a bard would suit you well," I finished my mead.  
Tawarthion laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Well, that's actually why I came to Skyrim in the first place," his smile softened, and he looked thoroughly love struck. _Do I look like that when I think of Cicero?_ I wondered.  
"Oh, gods!" Uthgerd teased. "I need more ale. Mead for you, Alysa?" I nodded as she stood. "Wine, Tar?" he waved a hand as he smiled; I could have sworn his cheeks colored slightly. "I've heard this story one too many times. You're on your own with this one, girl!" Uthgerd laughed, the soft lines in her face giving away her true age.  
Tawarthion chuckled. "Aye, that she has," he shifted in his seat, watching the Nord woman walk away.  
"Lisette?" I questioned. He knew I was asking about the story's topic.  
He nodded. "I heard about the Bard's College in Solitude, and thought I'd like to study there. I thought I might make a name for myself, even if I only wrote the verses. I was staying at the Winking Skeever when I met Lisette."  
I watched him as he fiddled with the letter again, his gaze soft and kind. Very different to when he had been fighting the dragon. "Hey! Watch yourself, boy!" Uthgerd snapped from the bar. Tar's expression hardened immediately, sitting straighter. One of the Penitus Oculatus agents had grabbed her arm for questioning. She wrenched herself free, and backed away, turning once she was sure she was out of their reach. I scowled. Damn those bastards! "Have any of you seen anyone traveling in red and black armor, a cowl and hood covering this person's face? Or perhaps red and black robes with a black hand print on the front?" one called. I took a deep breath. I didn't stand too much of a chance if they turned me in. "No," Tar said, standing and taking a few steps forwards. The elf was tall; tall was intimidating, even without the armor. "There has been no-one passing through Rorikstead with that description."  
He was defending me? Interesting. The agent scowled at the Altmer, slowly pacing closer. "You sure about that, Elf?"  
Tar drew himself a little taller, a few steps closer. I could have sworn the two were now nose-to-nose. "_Very_ sure," Tawarthion said, his voice low. He murmured something to the agent, who paled and looked fearfully at him. "I think you and your companion had best be on your way," he continued a little louder, unmoving.  
The agent scowled, backing away. "We'd best get moving. Our targets don't rest," he finally said, backing away and the other man looked confused but joined his companion as they hurriedly left. The entire inn stared at me: they had all seen my armor. Tar glanced around once, then returned. The noise continued shortly after. "Whatever you've done, Alysa, you can't stay more than one night. Which way were you headed?" he asked.  
_Might as well be halfway honest,_ "Morthal, I have a contract to fulfil after I meet with my client," I half-lied. I wasn't meeting a client, but I sure was fulfilling a contract. Tar frowned, displeased by my vague and yet apt answer. "By the way, do you know where Volunruud is?" I asked.  
"I do," Uthgerd said, frowning herself. "Do you have a map?"  
I nodded, pulling it out from a small bag I kept with me. She marked the ruin. _Might as well find out: Astrid will _have_ to send me sometime and I might as well have the information already._ "What contracts do you fulfil?" the Dragonborn asked me.  
"I get things done for people. If they want something badly enough, they will find me and I will do what needs to be done. It pays well and I'm happy doing what I love," I answered. It wasn't _un_true. Uthgerd pursed her lips and Tawarthion sighed after they exchanged a glance. "Then travel with us; we're headed to Dawnstar, anyway, and your horse is unfortunately dead. With us, you could travel faster."  
I scowled at him. A trusting assassin was a dead assassin, and he had nothing to gain and everything to lose if he took me with him. "What's in it for you?" I asked.  
"Nothing. But I owe you a horse and a favor for your assistance in helping to kill the dragon today. We leave at first light, if you're interested."  
I took that as my cue to leave. "Hm. I'll think about it," I conceded. Bed was calling, then. Damn the Empire and those Penitus Oculatus agents…. And dragons.

* * *

Cicero kept to himself while the Listener was gone. He giggled. Cicero _kept_ to himself! Oh, a good one, a good one! Cicero sniggered. "Tra-la-la, tra-la-lee," he sang, leaving his chambers for the company of someone else. Cicero _was_ human, after all. What he heard next, Cicero didn't like in the slightest. No, sweet Mother, not at all. "That _fool_ can't barge in and take command as he pleases with his pet _corpse_ while he toys with one of my best assassins!" Astrid fumed. Oh, unholy Night Mother, stay humble Cicero's blade. He walked into the main room. That pretender was talking to Veezara, Alysa's green friend. "And then he says she's the _Listener_? It's preposterous! Unthinkable! I swear he's twisting her! He'll be the reason I lose Alysa!"  
"Cicero thinks you should be quiet now," Cicero said, hand on his long ebony dagger.  
Astrid the Pretender pulled a face at Cicero. Horrid woman… Cicero should kill her… but then he would fail his Listener! "Listen, fool: stay _away_ from Alysa, and don't you _dare_ start with that 'Listener' crap again –"  
"You dare _defy_ the Old Ways _again_? You _dare_ deny the Listener the _respect_ she _deserves_? You _dare DEFY THE NIGHT MOTHER AND HER WISHES?! YOU DARE BLASPHEME?!_" Cicero shouted. Oh, he is furious: his blood boils for all the blasphemies the pretender-harlot speaks! Cicero should cut her down, make her beg and bleed….  
"You stay away from my _wife_, little man!"  
"Astrid's lapdog has _no_ say here," Cicero hissed. "You defy the Night Mother's wishes for a Listener _and, AND_ the contract she gives our Listener?"  
"Astrid, Cicero, Arnbjorn, wait, we –" the Argonian starts.  
"Listener? Contract? Astrid, what is all this?" Festus asks, and Cicero suddenly feels calmer. He knows it's magic, but he still wants Astrid dead.  
"Festus. According to the jester… Alysa is the… _Listener_," the pretender drawled, spat out. Oh, Cicero would carve her up so well… she'd scream for days.  
"Alysa is the Listener? What does she say about it?" Festus continues. Cicero hopes he'll talk sense into the pretender-harlot. "Astrid!"  
"She says she is, and that there's a client inside Volunruud," she admitted finally.  
Festus sighed angrily, but was still calm. Arnbjorn growled and Festus cast a spell on him. "Be quiet you loud wolf! Have you so little faith in what Alysa says, Astrid? She's never lied to you before, what does she gain from it now? If the Night Mother spoke, then you're wasting time debating the matter! When did this happen, and where is Alysa?"  
"The Listener is out on _little_ contracts," Cicero hissed softly, glaring at Astrid. Oh, he knew just where to cut and stab to make her scream and cry and beg and bleed… and Cicero would _love_ every moment, every single drop of blood would be exquisite… just perfect to appease the Night Mother for the blasphemy! "Alysa's gone?" Festus asked. Cicero nods, not glancing away from the pretender. "When did she leave? When will she be back?"  
The woman sighed angrily, pouting. Cicero would cut her lips off first. "The Night Mother spoke almost one-and-a-half months ago, and Alysa left about then, too. If she follows her usual travel mannerisms, she should be nearing or in Morthal. Then she'll pass Volunruud and ride for Windhelm to Anga's Mill."  
"Damn you, Astrid! She has proven herself over and over again! I don't suppose you told her _where_ Volunruud is, and by the time she gets back eight months will have passed! _Eight months!_" Festus barely spoke louder than normal, but even Cicero felt a little intimidated. "I hope that girl uses her head the way she usually does and finds out where that barrow is and talks to the client. When she returns, you damn well send her on _every_ contract the Night Mother gives her, and the one that client gives her! Now, you've upset a very dangerous mage, and I'm tired and hungry – and Cicero, you're coming with me. Help an old man get down the stairs to the dining room."  
Festus walked past Astrid, a little stooped and Cicero followed, glaring at the pretender a little while longer. "If looks could kill, she'd have been dead a hundred times over, Keeper," Festus said quietly. Cicero nodded. He's still too angry for words. Even the un-child looked concerned. Oh well. Cicero would have to wait before he killed Astrid. But kill her he would: and he would _enjoy_ it.


	8. 8: The Silence has been Broken

**A/N:** Not much to say, other than a huge Thank You to all reviewers, followers and favoriters! So enjoy and review! Hail Sithis.  
Update: Alysa has had her age kicked up a bit to better fit Cicero's age - otherwise it was a little creepy... Thanks lilidove for reminding me!

**Chapter 8: The Silence has been Broken**

I parted ways with the Dragonborn and his companion in Morthal – I had lost them almost immediately after we arrived in the little town, both because of the fog and we went separate ways – Tawarthion apparently had business with the jarl in this miserably marshy place. Even the people were as unwelcoming as the environment, skeptical of strangers. I walked into the only inn in town – Moorside Inn – and immediately regretted it. Lurbuk was doing something that was supposed to be singing and playing the lute. I almost ran outside to stop myself from charging him straight away. _Night Mother give me strength. And I appreciate the help this past week_, I thought, remembering how quickly Tawarthion and Uthgerd had travelled. If I hadn't been ready to flee at any second as a general rule, I would never have been able to keep up with them. Not that I ever travelled particularly quickly, either. I wrinkled my nose, walking to the apologetic-looking innkeep. "Sorry 'bout 'im. We don't usually got customers, so 'e's usually no trouble," she explained quietly, glancing at the Orc to make sure he wasn't listening to us.  
I nodded. "It's alright. A room for the night," I flared my nostrils behind my cowl as the Orc reached a high note and went false. I knew I didn't have a perfect voice, but even I could sing better than him. By Sithis, Cicero could… I smiled to myself, my mood softening despite the damnable Orc that went on. And on. And on. I put my things in my room, and pulled my cowl down, leaving the hood on. It was cold, despite my natural resistance to it. I sat down at one of the long tables and ordered hot food and a warm drink. A few townsfolk entered a while later, and Lurbuk started his performance in full swing. Tar and Uthgerd walked in a few hours later. I watched them cross the room to the counter. "Bard!" I called as soon as there was something akin to silence.  
Lurbuk looked at me excitedly. "Yes, dear lady?"  
I smirked. I was sure Tar saw it too. "Sing me a song. Sing me a song of fear, and death!"  
The common room went still, and I savored the power it gave me. I struggled not to snigger out loud and play with my blades…. Sithis help the poor souls who got in my way. Now was the time to be this bard's friend. He grinned, thinking. Tar leaned against the counter – his armor clinched softly against it. "Hm…" Lurbuk stroked his chin. "How about this? _Shadows creep, and... and phantoms leap! A man got... he got scared. And the demons dared! To um... visit upon him all which they feared_!" he finished, false and terrible. But I grinned and applauded anyway. I could tell Tar was beginning to realize I had an agenda here, just by the way he moved. Hopefully he didn't call me out. "Join me, Bard!" I called, waving him over and ordering the best mead for him. I cringed on the inside at the knowledge that I wasn't getting any. "Brilliant, I know. It's a gift," Lurbuk boasted, coming over and sitting with me. Maybe he'd be tolerable if he was drunk…?  
"A gift indeed!" I toasted, and the common room resumed its usual noise – perhaps a little louder now that the bard was occupied. Oh, the poor thing wouldn't know what hit him. I bought drink after drink until he was so drunk he didn't know his own name. Babette's new poison was a tiny vial that I slipped it into his drink. _Let the experiments begin,_ I thought, playing the drunken fool and toasting loudly with him, avoiding my drink when some of his splashed into mine. Babette hadn't been very specific with doses and I liked being alive, really. Who else was going to kill all the people in the world, if not me? Tawarthion was warily watching me from a corner, by now. I think he saw I wasn't drunk when we made eye contact. I almost _never_ indulged on a job, whether I was outgoing or returning home. It was simply too dangerous. The effects of Babette's new poison were… _astounding_. And maybe a little too fast. Lurbuk started singing and howling in earnest a few seconds after he got halfway through his special mead, and by the end of it he was acting like a person possessed. I was disturbed, really. But I kept watching, kept playing with as his drunken friend. Babette liked details on her poisons. I was still mildly amused by his barbaric dancing, clapping along from my perch on a bench when he became obsessed with something on the other side of the inn. He went quiet. I tensed. And then he walked straight into the fire, falling face-first into it and lay there, not even making a sound while he burned. Initially everyone was so shocked no-one moved. Mind you, I was thoroughly amused by a hallucinating bard who just killed himself, and I was having a hard time keeping my laughter to myself. So I screamed instead. Well, it sounded more like a Hagraven shrieking and cackling at the same time. That's when everyone realized he was dying, and the stink of burning flesh quickly filled the room. I shrieked at least twice more to relieve my need to laugh, then broke down and buried my face in my hands as I laughed. _Oh, Babette, your poisons are wondrous!_ I think most people thought I was crying and drunk, and someone put an arm around my shoulders and walked me to my room. I was sure Tawarthion was trying to put the fire out with magic. I curled up in my bed, daggers under my pillow with a grin on my face. I would _definitely_ use that poison again.

* * *

Cicero and Astrid were enemies from that day on: we watched each other, made sure our backs were to a wall whenever the other passed. Cicero locked Mother's chambers and coffin whenever he went out to speak with Festus, or Babette or Veezara, and sometimes Gabrielle. Cicero didn't know what to think of her: Dark Elves never made sense to Cicero, but then, little ever did! Like thieves… they take from the person before they're dead! They steal from the _living_! And they say _Cicero_ is crazy… hehehe. No, Cicero isn't crazy. He's MAD! Maddening! Ha ha ha! Ah, Cicero misses the Listener. It's been almost six months now, since she became Listener and Astrid denied Alysa her right to speak with a client. Cicero wanders back to his chambers – only there is he really safe from the pretender and her lapdog. He locks himself in every time, and now he is going to clean and oil Mother. "Dum-da-dum, dee-duh-dee," Cicero sang, collecting his oils and carefully working on keeping Mother perfect for the Listener. He took his time today, not that Cicero _ever_ rushed. He was just extra careful to get all those hard-to-reach places, cleaning and oiling, and humming and singing and dancing as Cicero went. He hummed and sang for Mother all the while of all sorts of things: sweet Mother who blessed dear Cicero with a Listener, and who kept him patient for this Listener. Cicero wondered if she would find Volunruud. "If Cicero wasn't Keeper, sweet Night Mother, Cicero thinks he would have tried to find Alysa and show her where Volunruud is. He is sure he knows where it is. But oh, sweet Mother of all assassins in our Family! Keep her safe – be your Listener's Keeper as much as humble Cicero is _your_ Keeper. And Keeper Cicero will stay, until he dies in service to you, Mother," Cicero paused to concentrate on cleaning and oiling. "Cicero would gladly die for you, Mother. And Alysa, the Listener. Yes, Cicero would die for both of you…."

Cicero sighs happily a few hours later. Or maybe many hours later? Cicero never knows, because Cicero never knows what the time is! Cicero smiled sadly. "It's been lonely without _her_, Mother! Cicero doesn't know what to do… so Cicero must wait. And eat! Cicero must eat to stay alive. Sweet Night Mother, Unholy Matron, humble Cicero will return to keep you company!" Cicero claps, then dances once for Mother before locking her in her coffin. Cicero wonders how Alysa managed to pick the lock – Cicero had tried a few times but he had broken his pick so many times he gave up. "I suppose you were helping her, Mother. You knew from the beginning she was the _One_," Cicero decided, then left down his passage to the little dining room Cicero had for himself, and made dinner – or lunch, or something before or after or in between the two, Cicero wasn't sure. It was always difficult to tell time inside the Sanctuary. Very difficult, no matter the light that streamed in from cracks and crevices in the walls and roof. Oh well, Cicero wonders if he has any sweet rolls, or carrots….

* * *

I stood at the door to Volunruud. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside to a narrow passage. A worn journal and a skeleton lay near the door. I pulled my cowl over my mouth and nose, and stepped over it and headed down the stairs. There were two passages leading on: one almost back the way I came and one ahead. I heard voices from the passage closest to me. So I followed them. I walked into a chamber with at least three dead Draugr, and a wooden door stood ajar. I looked in, and pushed the door a little wider more out of habit. It moved slightly on silent hinges: bless ancient Nords for their silent hinges. A man in Imperial Legion armor stood to one side, while a man in expensive robes knelt by an effigy of the Black Sacrament. I assumed they had both been here a while. "Are you sure it will work, my lord?"  
"I have no doubt. Though, the Emperor's agents have severely decimated their numbers they still take contracts." I couldn't see the man's face, but his voice was smooth, the sound something I would akin to a sly trickster and manipulator. Interesting, this client and contract would be. "They might take longer to get here, though…" he continued.  
"Well, that depends on when you started," I said, stepping into the room a little more. The bodyguard drew his blade as Amaund Motierre hastily stood. I raised my hands.  
"Rexus, it's alright. By the almighty Divines," Amaund said, stepping closer to me as he dusted his knees and his hands. "You've come. You've _actually_ come. This dreadful Black Sacrament thing... it worked."  
I nodded. "How can I help, Amaund?"  
The Breton blinked, looking me over in a strange way. I narrowed my eyes at him when his gaze settled on my covered face. "Well, I won't waste your time. I'm glad you're here. Surely your time is as _valuable_ as my own."  
I blinked in reply. He seemed uncomfortable when he continued, realizing I wasn't going to say more. "Right, then. You prefer to listen, is that it?" I smirked under my cowl, almost wishing he could see my expression. Amaund continued, muttering more to himself for a moment. "Well, you must obviously represent the Dark Brotherhood; I certainly wasn't expecting anyone else. So I'll cut to the chase. I would like to arrange a contract. Several, actually. I dare say, the work I'm offering has more _significance_ than anything your organization has experienced in, well, centuries," he stood taller, his confidence in dealing with me growing.  
"Go on," I said, intrigued.  
"As I said, I want you to kill several people. You'll find the targets, as well as their manners of elimination, quite varied. I'm sure someone of your… _disposition…_ will probably even find it enjoyable. But you should know that these killings are but a means to an end: for they pave the way to the most important target…. The real reason I'm speaking with a cutthroat in the bowels of this detestable crypt." I narrowed my eyes at being called a 'cutthroat', shifting my stance. _I suppose that's true, all things considered,_ I admitted. "For I seek the assassination of… _the Emperor_."  
I raised my brows, surprised. But I kept my tone level and matter-of-fact. "The emperor? Well, leaders rise and fall. Business is business."  
The Dark Brotherhood hasn't had a contract like this in a very long time: Amaund was right. "Oh, wonderful!" he grinned, and looked even more conniving than before. "You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that! So much planning, and maneuvering. Now it's as if the very _stars_ have finally aligned…. But I digress. Here, take these. They need to be delivered to your, um... _superior_. Rexus. The items," Amaund gestured to his bodyguard to bring items to me. A letter and an amulet, by the looks of it. I took them, carefully turning the amulet in my hands. It looked very expensive. "These two items _must_ be passed along to your superior. The sealed letter will explain everything that needs to be done. The amulet is quite valuable – you can use it to pay for any and all expenses."  
I nodded curtly. "I'll make sure this gets done." I grinned. "I believe it will be a pleasure doing business with you, Amaund."  
The Breton sniffed, dipping his head quickly. His bodyguard looked much less charmed. Now I just needed to kill Ennodius Papius, and head back to the Sanctuary.

* * *

I spent my birthday doing the one thing that made me happiest: killing. I found Ennodius camped a short distance from Anga's Mill, and excitedly told him that I was officially twenty-eight today. He had been wary, backing away and trying to be polite despite obvious paranoia. The second he turned his back my blades were in his back and neck. _Well, he was right to be paranoid,_ I sniggered, wiping the last splatters of blood from my face. I considered continuing to Windhelm to buy a horse when I realized I didn't have the coin, and buying on credit meant I'd have to return to settle my debt, one way or another. _But I _can _buy a seat on a cart to Falkreath,_ I schemed. It wouldn't be as fast as horseback, but it was better than walking. I would return to my home soon. _I'm coming, Cicero._


	9. 9: Storytelling and Celebrations

**A/N:** Happy days! Can't say a double update will happen again; I just couldn't leave this one like thisX3. May the Unholy Matron guide you, after a review. You know you want to….

**Chapter 9: Storytelling and Celebrations**

Babette asked Cicero to join her in herb shopping late one windy-cloudy afternoon. Cicero wondered why, then he remembered the un-child _was_ like a child to everyone else! So he agreed, locking the Night Mother and his chambers and he fixed his jester's cap. Babette was waiting patiently by the Door, a basket in arm. "Sweet sister, shall we go, go, GO?!"  
Babette rolled her eyes. "Yes, Keeper."  
Cicero opened the door and held it for Babette, grinning brightly. Once he looked at the sky, he frowned. Alysa hadn't come back yet, and it was a month off eight months since she left. Cicero wondered when she would come back. "Brother?" an innocent girl's voice called. Cicero was surprised to see it was Babette. He hadn't thought the un-child could be so much like a child….  
Cicero closed the Door behind him, holding his hand for the un-child "Yes, sister?"  
Babette just looked him over. Cicero wondered what she was thinking, but then Babette smiled too innocently – at least Cicero thought so – then put her cold hand in his. "Let's go to Falkreath!" she exclaimed, excited. And they all wondered about Cicero… Cicero was sure this vampire was _worse_. Much worse. When Cicero and Babette got close to Falkreath, the un-child ran ahead, giggling. Cicero almost didn't run after her. Oh, sweet Night Mother, Cicero would have trouble with _that_ one… "Sweet sister! Don't get lost!" he called, spying Babette again. Not that he'd _lost_ her. But Cicero could, if she _wanted_ to be lost…. Vampires were always tricky. Tricky tricky…. Oh! Cicero knows what he can do while his sister buys herbs that sadly _doesn't_ involve killing! Cicero can perform! He cackles, and starts dancing, miming… and what a crowd the Fool of Hearts gathered! Young, first, then older and older and oldest! Ha ha ha! "Good sir!" Cicero shouted at a weapons dealer, the same one he stole the dagger from the last time he came with Alysa… oh, that was fun, Mother! Cicero should do it again! "Cicero, the Fool of Hearts, would like a few daggers! For juggling!" Cicero showed him what he meant. The man looked concerned. If Cicero was that man, maybe he'd be concerned, too: but then, Cicero is Cicero and not that man, because _that_ man is himself and not Cicero's self… Cicero is a little confused, sweet Mother. The crowd cheered and jeered! For Cicero to have daggers! "Give him a few daggers, Haaldin. What's the harm?" someone called. Cicero bowed as the knives were brought to him, then took them up. "First, just three for Cicero!" he called, juggling. Later, Cicero called again. "Another one, dear people!"

And they held out another one for Cicero, until he had, oh, seven? Seven! Seven deadly dangerous daggers to juggle! Cicero giggled. What would they do if he threw the daggers at seven very lucky, lucky people? They wouldn't know what hit them! Cicero laughed a little louder, and then a lute and drums gave him a beat to dance to. Oh, a funny joke! Don't you think, Mother? "How about another two, Jester?" a familiar voice called. Cicero almost forgot to juggle, almost dropped his daggers. It was the Listener! It was Alysa! The Listener has returned from the hunt! Cicero beamed. "Of course! Throw them to Cicero, Li-lovely lady!" Cicero stammered, grinning. Alysa smirked; she heard Cicero's slip. He giggled as she readied her daedric daggers, coming closer. The crowd parted and whispered… oh, what a moment! Cicero noticed Alysa wasn't wearing her Dark Brotherhood armor, just the plain leather the commoners wore. She took the dagger by the blade. Cicero glanced back at his flying daggers, frowning quickly. She was going to throw it like a throwing knife! It came! Cicero stepped aside, catching it and threw it into the air! The crowd cheers loudly! For the Fool of Hearts! And for the Listener's skill! Cicero grins and laughs at the crowd: oh, if they only knew his _true_ skill, sweet Night Mother! Cicero is juggling eight now! "Ready when you are!" Cicero calls, moving in a circle with his daggers. Oh, he _does_ love these sharp shiny daggers!  
"The last one," Listener Alysa said, speaking just above the almost-silent crowd. She readied her blade. Cicero watches. She throws! Slower, this time: concentrating on _not_ killing humble Cicero. He catches! He throws! And he juggles! The crowd cheers again! Even the un-child can't help herself: she's grinning at Cicero's skill! Cicero sees a gap in the crowd. There's a wooden post on the other side of the crowd… and Cicero throws! All seven – one right after the other, right below one another into the post! A pity it wasn't a person… or many _people_. He caught the Listener's two daggers, and held them out to her, bowing as she took them. The crowd cheered as Cicero bowed again, taking off his cap for coins. "Thank you, thank you! The Fool of Hearts thanks you! Cicero appreciates your time, O audience of Falkreath!" They all give him at least one coin, and some even gave him up to five and one gave him six, and Cicero puts his cap on carefully. He mustn't waste his gold, no not at all! Not ever! The _other_ place might need new furnishings still…. Babette bought her last few herbs, and Alysa disappeared. Cicero was disappointed. He took the un-child's hand when she held it out and left with her. He wondered how often she came to buy, but didn't ask. They were halfway to the Sanctuary when Cicero saw the Listener! "Listener!" Cicero stage-whispered, leaving the un-child and skipping to Alysa. She stood, a lazy smile on her face. Oh, such a pretty face, sweet Mother… every time Cicero sees her he knows you made the perfect choice – as you always do, Mother – for your Listener. "Cicero, Babette," she greeted. "That was quite a performance you've put together, Cicero."  
Cicero beamed. Babette sighed. "Cicero found many ways to help the Family!"  
"Yes, Keeper. _That_ you have… mind your cap doesn't fall off in front of Astrid or Arnbjorn… one can never know what you three will do if that happens," she said, leaving for the Sanctuary.  
Cicero and Alysa watch the un-child disappear. "Cicero wonders why the Listener is wearing _that_ armor and not her usual armor," Cicero looked back at Alysa.  
She frowned. Well, rather scowled. She reached for her pack on the ground, but Cicero was faster. She sighed, waving at Cicero that he could carry it. "Alright, then. Well, Penitus Oculatus agents are active on the roads. If I hadn't run into the Dragonborn, they would have found me."  
"A disguise! Clever, dear Listener! Dragonborn? And where is Listener Alysa's horse?" Cicero doesn't like the way she said that word, 'Dragonborn'….  
She nodded as we walked. "A dragon was attacking Rorikstead, and grabbed my horse. I helped the Dragonborn kill the dragon and _he_ told the Penitus Oculatus agents when they arrived in the inn that night that no-one had the armor they described. They know exactly what we wear, Cicero. And they're getting bolder in their search for us," Alysa frowned. "What's going on between you, Astrid and Arnbjorn?"  
It was Cicero's turn to sigh. "The _pretender_ still defies the Night Mother's wishes. Cicero confronted her and her… _husband_ wanted to attack poor Cicero! He's _never_ liked the Keeper! If Festus hadn't returned when he did, Cicero thinks he might not have let the pretender and her husband live…" Cicero hisses. Oh, it still makes him furious, angry and deadly to think of it!  
"Hm. Well, between us, I found Volunruud anyway," Alysa said quietly. Cicero draped an arm around the Listener's shoulders.  
She looked a little uncomfortable, glaring at Cicero's arm. "Of course, Listener! Just between Listener, and Keeper! Just as it should be! Well, until the Listener finds a Speaker…" Cicero trailed sadly. Then Cicero would just be Keeper again to Alysa.  
"Cicero…."  
"Yes, Listener?" Cicero sang.  
"Don't…" she looked at Cicero's arm.  
He sighed, taking his arm back. "Of course, Listener."  
Alysa nodded, saying the passcode to the Door. Cicero followed her inside, stopping to admire the stone door sliding shut with a boom! Cicero smiled at Alysa's back. Her hair was recently tied again, the long wisps wisping away from the wind that had blown in. Cicero wanted to smooth them away, but he knew the Listener wouldn't let poor Cicero touch her again, not so soon, anyway. "Festus returned a little while after you were gone," Cicero told Alysa. "He seems happy to know you are the Listener!" Cicero clapped and skipped around Alysa. She grinned. Time had made her cold to dear Cicero again…. Cicero would fix that soon enough! Alysa sighed and rolled her eyes. "Come on, I'm looking forwards to whatever Nazir and Festus argued over making," she said, walking on and skipping down the stairs to the main area. Cicero followed her as she made her way to her bed, and put her pack on the floor. She looked at Cicero. Cicero looked back. He grinned. "Oh! Cicero understands! Cicero will see you downstairs!" he turns, skipping down to the dining hall to talk to Festus.

* * *

I had forgotten how easily Cicero could get in my space, after spending eight months by myself and as little physical contact with people as I could get away with. I pulled out my red and black robes and quickly changed into them. I didn't like the way this leather fit me, and it was hard, uncomfortable compared to the Brotherhood's armor. I finished quickly, the smell of food wafting down the passages to my nose. I was hungry for something from home. I hurried down the stairs, barefoot and slipped in behind Nazir as he filled a bowl of a spicy stew. "Toothpick…" Arnbjorn growled behind me. I turned to smirk at him.  
"You snooze, you lose," I chirped, sweeping the bowl out of Nazir's hands and planting myself on a chair at the table. Nazir had chuckled, and Cicero giggled hysterically from where he was stationed at the mead, filling two large tankards and setting one down next to me. I raised it when Cicero sat down in the chair next to mine. "Cheers," I said. Cicero grinned, echoing me as we clinked our tankards together. The tables filled quickly with the other members, though I still hadn't seen Astrid, and Arnbjorn had apparently only come in to fetch food, glaring at me and Cicero briefly when he passed. Even Babette came in, though her nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell of cooked food. She sat across from me, two chairs down, next to Festus. She had an excited, expectant look on her face. I blinked at her, playing dumb. "I forgot to ask you earlier. So…" she started, shifting in her seat a few times.  
Cicero glanced between us. "'So' what, Babette?" I asked innocently, blowing gently on the stew in my spoon before I tasted. I closed my eyes in bliss. By Sithis, this was the best food I'd had in eight long months…. "Alysa! My poison! You _did_ use it, right?!" she insisted, her eyes going a little red from excitement.  
I took my time to answer, eating more of the stew just to ruffle her feathers. "A new poison? What does _this_ one do, Babette?" Festus asked. He seemed to be the most affectionate about Babette out of the all the Family members, and that was probably only due to the fact that they were both interested in the arcane. The little vampire grinned, full of herself for the moment. "It does ice damage while simultaneously driving the victim insane. Genius, I know. So, how did it work? How much did you use? What happened?" she pressed, turning back to me.  
I sighed through my nose but grinned coyly. Cicero was at the forefront of the cheer to convince me to share the details. I leaned back in my chair. "Oh, Babette, it was… oh, I was… I want _more_ of that poison next time!" I cackled, then added, "Well, it works a little quickly, but very well." I needed no further egging to describe my meeting with the unfortunate bard, and his sad demise. Babette looked like she was about to cry from pride. Nazir and Festus had both laughed: at least they had agreed that Luburk's death was worth laughing about. Cicero had tried to imitate Luburk's howling, and might have gotten close, too, if he was a little more drunk. I had laughed, and added that not even Arnbjorn at his worst could make that kind of noise, which dampened the jester's mood a little, but it lightened quickly as other exploits were passed around. Festus explained a few magical details but gave up when we asked about his distorted victims, especially the very bloody ones, instead of the technicalities behind the spells. Nazir told tales of older contracts, and the times he had been hunting in Hammerfell before he had been moved to Skyrim. Cicero was planning something in the midst of all the merriment: his eyes were twinkling and the grin that spread over his face gave him away. He licked the ends of his fingers, and like lightning he stretched across the table to smack Babette on the forehead, shrieking with laughter at her blank-shocked face. I was still sniggering about it with the others when he did the same to me. I gasped, tensing and blinking, my laughter dead in my throat. Cicero was trying to stifle giggles. I wiped my forehead with a napkin, and turned to glare at him, but found I laughed the hardest of everyone. Mead flowed like water from Skyrim's mountain streams, and Nazir had eventually grabbed a drum and played some old, tribal Redguard beat. Veezara gave a fight display, and Festus graced us with an intricate magical display before waving us off and made his way to the sleeping quarters. Gabrielle had come in at some stage, linking hands with Babette and spinning around. I think I might have danced with her, too. I couldn't remember how much mead I'd had. But I was swept into different arms, and found myself spinning around and around and around and around –


	10. 10: A New Vow

**A/N:** May the Night Mother keep you in her cold, loving embrace. Enjoy, and review!

**Chapter 10: A New Vow**

My head felt like a fireball waiting to explode. "_Hhmmm…_" I moaned, sluggishly shifting onto my stomach. Someone hummed softly in the room. I sleep-growled, gathering enough energy to pull the pillow out and slam it over my head. I sighed with the effort. The humming stilled, and I was vaguely aware of my bed having more warm furs on it than usual. I dozed, until someone perched at the end of my bed. I tried to kick the intruder off, but found the bed was even longer than usual. It faintly occurred to me this wasn't _my_ bed. Someone stifled chuckles, and I heard the sharp clink of glass on stone close to my head. "It's a healing potion," the voice whispered loudly. It was familiar…. "_Hnngg!_" I complained, and the intruder left, a door opening and closing fairly quietly.  
My need to breathe eventually got the better of me. _If I'm going to breathe, might as well sit up and drink it…_. If I could find the potion. I threw the pillow to the foot of the bed, wincing at the pain in my head, and started turning over onto my back, slowly sitting up with vertigo and a little nausea. I squinted in the light, letting my heavy head sit in my hands while I considered that I actually had a problem, before looking for the potion. I picked it up carefully, flinching at the sharp popping noise it made when I uncorked it and sipped the sweet liquid. I breathed deeply and kept sipping slowly, eventually feeling well enough to take in my surroundings. I was in a room that was familiar, though I couldn't pinpoint where I had seen it before. I was on a bed in a passage, just obscured from a room on the left, and to my right was a small dining room with an adjoining chamber. Sweet rolls and carrots as well as a few other foodstuffs were on plates and bowls. Whoever stayed here loved sweet rolls and carrots…. I stood slowly, swaying a little as I moved to the table, potion in hand. I had no idea where I was, who had spoken to me. I felt panic rise: it made me angry. I _never_ panicked about anything. _Why haven't I ever thought of drinking a healing potion?_ I suddenly wondered, taking a sweet roll. At the very least, I still had my clothes on; I couldn't remember what I had done the night before, and it bothered me. That fed my panicked anger at myself even more as I bit into the bread, forcing myself to enjoy the cinnamon and sugar roll and relax. I felt a little surer on my feet now, and I decided to explore the other side of the passage. I licked the sugar off my fingers as I finished the potion. I felt about normal, again.

I felt all the blood drain from my face. The Night Mother's coffin was to my left, a bedroll on the floor, next to a table of oils and embalming tools. Right about then the friendly neighbourhood-killing-jester-assassin came in. He stopped in the door, looking me over before smirking brightly. "How does the Listener feel?" he asked, closing the door. I watched him warily. "Don't worry, Listener! Cicero brought you here after you started running around the Sanctuary, cutting and slashing and fighting with invisible enemies! And _Cicero_ is the 'crazy' one!" he giggled darkly. "_Oh, if I chance to see a CAT, I'll feed its corpse to my PET __RAT_!"  
I blinked, wondering at the sudden outburst. "I did nothing else, _nothing_ at all?" I pressed.  
Cicero shook his head quickly. "Oh! Cicero lies! You beat Nazir at a drinking game! He's much worse off," Cicero cackled. "And Cicero never knew Alysa could dance –"  
"I did _what_?!" I danced?! A vague memory of spinning around came to me. I tried to remember who I was dancing with. _And I beat Nazir at a drinking game? Impossible_. I was about to ask Cicero when he started humming and examining the Night Mother.  
I settled for watching him work, seemingly oblivious to my presence. It suited me: I needed to calm down and think. I decided I really did have a huge problem with my mead obsession as I sat down on the floor by the table, my left leg close to me while my right made an arch. I didn't bother asking Cicero if I could help, or which bottles or tools to pass him: I doubted he would have let me, and I had no idea which bottle or tool was what. So I laced my fingers together on my knee, put my chin on top and watched. He hummed and sang now and again, occasionally doing some kind of a jig. As I watched him, I wondered why exactly I had fallen in love with Cicero. I knew one couldn't _choose_ who to fall in love with, I was just wondering _why_ Cicero: the jester, the assassin, the madman whose moods could change as easily as one might breathe. Granted, he had skills as an assassin I could only guess at, considering I had not known him before now, nor really seen him at his best. He was physically attractive, with a tall, lithe form, undoubtedly still toned beneath his jester's garb, if not as refined as he once was. I suspected he trained often enough, despite what most of the Sanctuary might think of him. Plus, as a jester he had surely learnt a few other tricks and habits, outside of what the Brotherhood taught. I could only assume this because he never seemed to get tired. Cicero could only have made it to Keeper by being dedicated to the Old Ways and the Night Mother, as well as a gifted assassin. It was the only way one could get so high up, minus the odd exception, like myself, I supposed. I shuddered to think what it must have been like for Cicero to lay down his blade for embalming oils and the likes. As an assassin from Cyrodiil, he had surely had some exciting contracts, and I could only assume that since he had been the only one to come up, his Sanctuary had been completely destroyed like so many others. Loosing Family, your duty as an assassin and whatever other hardships Cicero had surely experienced… it was no wonder he was crazy. I had a kind of admiration for his perseverance, and those brief moments of sanity left me feeling that the Fool of Hearts was a little different to the man Cicero had been, a little more extreme in each regard. A small smile played my lips as I leaned my cheek on my hands instead. Cicero had been the first person I had met who made me believe there could be more to life than just being an assassin, killing however and whenever I pleased. Oh, I loved it, and once I started I could go on and on, the sounds of man and mer dying, the smell of fear and blood… I appreciated it all, but Cicero gave me a kind of peace that was different to the relief and ecstasy taking a life brought, something I had come to accept I would probably never know for myself, something I would only see around me. I felt reasonably safe with the jester, despite his attempt to kill me when I was declared Listener. In fact, thinking back, I would have done the same thing he had, were our positions reversed. Where his personality was concerned, I couldn't say much: he was pleasant to be with, although erratic and sadistic at times, but loyal and apparently kind, considering he had somehow convinced me to come to his area of the Sanctuary. Whether or not it was actually genuine care for me, or if he was just looking out for me because I was the Listener, I couldn't yet say. But I was fairly sure it was the former.  
Cicero really wasn't doing much with the Night Mother, just checking for things only he knew, applying oil to certain areas and carefully replacing her bound body in the coffin. I'd ask him about what he was doing sometime. Suddenly he jumped back. "All done, Mother!" he sang, clasping his hands together.  
"Cicero," I started when he turned around. He glanced at me a few times as he put his things away. "I was rude last night when we came back from Falkreath, and I…" I trailed off. I just couldn't bring myself to say a heartfelt 'I'm sorry' or 'Thank you'; I never had. Cicero beamed at me, nodding. "Cicero understands," he looked away to pull off his gloves. He held out a hand to me. "Cicero accepts the most honorable Listener's statement," he said wittily. I grinned at his way around my not-quite-said apology, and took his hand. He pulled me up faster than I had really expected. We were almost nose to nose, our hands linked at Cicero's chest. His grin told me he knew I was a little uncomfortable. My breath caught in my throat as we stared at each other for a few seconds. We let each other go at the same time. I broke Cicero's gaze. "Uhm… I… should find Nazir, and check up on… the things I acquired from the client," I stumbled over my words, wondering how I could be reduced to a little girl in Cicero's presence.  
Cicero nodded. "Cicero was thinking he might train today, if the honorable Listener would like to join him," he said, his eyes hopeful.  
"Yes, I'd like that," I nodded quickly, remembering why it was so difficult for me to leave the Fool of Hearts. I smiled. Cicero beamed. And I almost tripped over my own feet. Almost. I wandered through the Sanctuary to find Babette first. If anyone would have an accurate description of what happened the night before, it was her. I found her slumped in a chair by Nazir's bed, the Redguard looking worse for wear. "Babette?" I whispered. Her eyes flared open and she jolted upright. Nazir moaned and I felt his pain. I swore off drinking more than necessary.  
"Alysa," Babette greeted, her tone a little sleepy but she looked interested in me. "How–?"  
"I drank a healing potion," I replied softly, gesturing her to come with me. She placed a bucket closer to Nazir and put his arm on its rim. We headed down to the dining hall.  
"I should have thought of that a long time ago," she hissed, irritated with herself. She stifled a yawn. "You were really going at it with Nazir last night," she laughed softly.  
"I really have no idea how, though: I've never beaten anyone at a game like that, and as of this morning I have no plan to do it again," I admitted, snorting. "So, what exactly happened last night?"  
Babette blinked slowly. "You danced, you beat Nazir, Festus complained about the noise, Arnbjorn didn't make another appearance until this morning, Gabrielle danced and did readings, and I get to clean up the mess afterwards…. Oh, and then you started chasing something around the Sanctuary, Cicero followed and I had to make sure everyone got to where they needed to be."  
My mouth made an 'O' shape. Seems Cicero was right about what happened. "I will _not_ let this happen to me again… I suppose I should be grateful it turned out as well as it had…." I said, while Babette nodded sleepily. "Could I fetch a healing potion for Nazir and you head off to sleep?"  
Babette nodded. "You know where to find them," she stifled another yawn. I nodded and headed to her alchemy lab which looked over our resident pet Frostbite Spider Liz's hovel, and opened the cabinet. I took one of the stronger potions and headed back up to the sleeping quarters. Babette convinced a very sarcastic Nazir to cooperate for long enough to drink some of the potion. In between the two volleying sharp remarks back and forth – and a few muttered curses from Nazir – I left to make sure the amulet and letter I had gotten from Amaund was still hidden under my newly-acquired leather armor. Satisfied they were both there, I went looking for Astrid. Gabrielle stopped me when I passed her by Babette's alchemy lab. "Astrid isn't here, I believe she's found another recruit, Listener. She'll return later today," she said, not looking up from her tarot cards.  
I frowned at the hooded Dunmer woman, nodding slowly. "I see…." Well, if _that_ was the case, I might as well start training. Or find Arnbjorn and convince him to check my weapons and armor for weak spots and repair them. I shook my head at myself when I returned to my chest, annoyed I hadn't thought straight – I could have taken it with me and been in the training are now, working on blade techniques. I took my daggers, bow and Shrouded Armor from my chest and trudged to the main room where Arnbjorn usually worked on armor and weapon projects. As sure as I was Listener, he was at the grindstone, sharpening a sword. "Arnbjorn," I greeted over the shrill sound of metal on stone.  
"Tidbit," he growled, taking the blade off and letting the stone wheel to a halt. I hefted my things a little higher.  
"I'd like you to have a look at these, and repair them if they're damaged," I said. "Where can I put them for you?" I had learnt long ago that giving Arnbjorn half a chance to say no meant spending the next week convincing him to consider it. Arnbjorn jerked his head at the workbench, and I nodded curtly, putting my armor on the table, daggers on top of that and my bow next to the pile. I headed back to the training area, thinking to take one of the many training weapons to fight with, when I saw Cicero already busy with a long ebony dagger, his movements sure and agile as he turned, ducked, slashed and stabbed. I'd never seen anyone use so much of their body when fighting. I was awestruck, really, especially when he switched hands and was just as accurate. I might use two daggers, but I'd never really spent time on practicing with my left hand to the same level as my right. I stepped closer. "Listener!" Cicero shouted.  
I sighed, letting a lazy half-smile creep over my face. "Keeper," I returned. He sheathed his blade and straightened before bowing deeply and making a wide gesture at the Brotherhood's array of wooden weapons when he straightened. "Choose your plaything!"  
I sniggered. Playthings of an assassin they were… I took a dagger, Cicero unbuckling his ebony blade and taking up a wooden one of the same length as his blade. We circled each other briefly, and I suddenly found myself flat on my back.  
I stared open-mouthed at Cicero. He didn't fight fair! Not that I ever did, but I hadn't even seen that coming! I frowned at him when I stood up, taking my guard more seriously. I apparently had a lot to learn from Cicero. I spent most of my time dodging him, but even that was poorly accomplished on my part. Cicero seemed intent on teaching the hard way. I couldn't find a gap in his defences, and he was much more agile than I was. After my umpteenth slap with his dagger, and the second time I ended on the floor, I snarled angrily at him. Why did he have to be so difficult? I charged him, dagger ready. Cicero caught me, spun me round and twisted my training dagger from my grasp and held his to my throat. _He doesn't fight fair,_ I complained in my head.  
_He has learnt to survive, my Listener; through being harder, faster and cheating my Keeper has learnt to keep himself alive, and defend my vessel,_ the Night Mother's voice resounded in my head. I felt my anger dissipate, fading into cool clear-headedness, and I leaned into Cicero's embrace. He had been through more than I could imagine… a plan formed in my mind. I could feel Cicero loosen his hold on me.

I struck.

I drove my elbow deep into Cicero's ribs, twisting out of his grip as I gripped his wrist and pulled the dagger out of his hands. I felt a moment of happiness: I might win. Cicero was still faster to react: we ended in a deadlock, my training dagger to his throat and one of his hidden, real daggers in my side, just under my ribs. I frowned at him, confused. Where did he hide all his weapons? "You learn quickly, Alysa. But you need to learn a lot, sweet and honorable Listener," Cicero whispered, his eyes shining. I had a feeling he was going to enjoy teaching me. I wasn't sure I was going to enjoy it as much. Voices came from the passage to the Door. It sounded like a man and a woman, probably Astrid and her new assassin. My new brother. "Let's meet the new blood," Cicero winked, quickly stepping back and sheathing his hidden blade. I had a lot to learn from him.

I put the training dagger on the table, and stepped out into the main room. I hadn't quite expected my new brother to be who he was.


	11. 11: An Old Acquaintance

**A/N:** More out of curiosity than anything else, who of you thought that the character I bring into play in this chapter was the one I had been talking about in the previous chapter? Just curious, really. May the Night Mother wrap you in her cold, loving embrace as you review.

**Chapter 11: An Old Acquaintance**

The boy with the pretender was young – Imperial, too – but tall, and filling out, Cicero thought. Dark hair, dark eyes – typical Imperial, unlike Cicero with his red hair and gray eyes – with their new brother's open and very innocent-looking face. Cicero decided he doesn't like this new boy, but he can be changed to follow the Old Ways and obey Listener Alysa. Oh, sweet Mother, Cicero felt terrible fighting Alysa! Being so close, yes; Cicero liked that. Cicero giggles. A very good excuse to have the Listener close, to touch her… Cicero wondered why she didn't like being touched. It confused humble Cicero to no end, sweet Mother. What had happened that she was like this? The new boy was wearing Stormcloak armor, Cicero thought he recognized, and seemed very happy to be here. He looked at Cicero, and then at Alysa and he grinned brightly. _Too_ brightly. Cicero narrowed his eyes at this boy. He would carve that grin off he saw it in his Listener's direction again…. "You! I remember you! From when you killed Grelod the Kind," the boy said, looking at Alysa.  
She just blinked at him, and maybe looked a little surprised under it all, Cicero thinks. "Hm, yes, you're Aventus Aretino," the Listener replied. So he _used_ to be a client… Cicero thought that interesting not all that many who were clients became assassins, though Cicero knew of a few _targets_ who later became assassins because they managed to escape and kill the one who wanted them dead. Cicero found that fascinating. The new boy – Aventus – nodded excitedly. "Yes! I –"  
"So, you two are already acquainted," the pretender drawled. "Alysa, you can take over Aretino's training and show him around our Sanctuary."

A little girl's scream filled the common room. The Listener turned, her eyes shining. What was the un-child up to?

Babette came running, tripping over her torn, bloody and dirty-filthy-soiled skirts, crying and panting. Cicero glances at Alysa. She's trying not to smile as she watches the un-child. Cicero grins: he understands! It's a joke! A very funny joke…. He he he he!  
"_Please!_" the un-child screamed, tripping more as she tried to stand up. "_Help me_ please!" She ran to the new blood Aventus, but sweet Alysa grabbed the back of her shirt, grinning. Cicero tried not to laugh too hard. "Please! You _have_ to _help me!_" the un-child screamed, crying. "They killed my parents and took me! _Help me!_" she cried and cried and cried and cried. And Cicero giggled. The new blood looked a little horrified. "Hush, child," the Listener said, rolling her eyes. "You're staying here, with us. Your new Family, brothers and sisters who will love you and care for you…."  
"I apologize, Alysa, Astrid; I hadn't expected her to run quite so fast," Gabrielle spoke slowly, marching to dear Alysa and taking a sobbing and begging Babette away, into her arms. But the un-child broke free! Cicero watched Gabrielle and Alysa look at each other. Babette fell to her knees at Aventus's feet, clutching his armor. "Please, Sir, _please_ help me! Take me _away_! I want to go _home_…" she sobbed, pressing her head into his thigh. Cicero wondered if the un-child would bite him. He giggled. Alysa and Gabrielle looked at him. "Oh, it's a clever one," Cicero giggles.  
"You, I–" Aventus stuttered. He looked concerned about this un-child. He reached down to pick her up up up! He he he, and then he was flat on his back! Without his weapon! Ah-hahahaha! "Never trust _anyone_," Babette sneered, turning and striding away as she cackled. Everyone laughed and sniggered. But Cicero loved the way the Listener laughed. Oh, such a sweet sound to humble Cicero. He could spend forever listening to the Listener. Oh, a paradox! The _Listener_ listens, and the _Speaker_ speaks! Not the Listener _speaking_ and the Speaker _listening_… not that Cicero is either, sweet Mother. He will forever be your humble Keeper, to keep forever! Alysa chuckled still while Aventus stood up, confused. "Alysa, I have a few things I need to do. Show Aretino around the Sanctuary, and introduce him to the Family. Make sure he understands all the rules and gets settled in," the pretender said, sauntering away.

Alysa pursed her lips at that _harlot_. Oh, one day Cicero will bury his blade in her so many times they will think she was never whole… but very hole-y. Cicero sniggers. "Cicero is OFF! He shall return soon!" And Cicero skipped away. He must tidy up, and tell Mother about her new son, Aventus Aretino. Though Mother surely knows already. Oh, the Dark Brotherhood will rise again!

* * *

Aventus Aretino. The new blood. My new brother. I suppose I should have seen it coming, considering how excited he had been to see me, even though I hadn't even joined the Brotherhood then. He was about eight years younger than me, I supposed, and he had grown up fairly well. Pity he was still so naïve… he must have been one of the newest recruits to the Stormcloaks. I sniggered again when I thought of Babette's little prank: she had tried it on me as well, but I had been so shocked to see a little girl that I had ended up backing away from her, watching as her tears slowly became red with blood. I liked to think it was from that moment that she had decided to befriend me, to a certain degree. "Well, I'll also be off, but to my cards. It's a pleasure to meet you, Aventus. I am Gabrielle," the Dark Elf said, then turned on heel and floated to where Babette and Festus would surely be busy with some arcane experiment.  
"What was that about?" he asked when he picked up his axe. I could swear his pride and ego were far beyond damaged. I smirked at him.  
"That little girl was Babette, our resident alchemist. If you plan on becoming a good assassin, you'll need to be able to outsmart her, because you'll never beat her. Follow me, I'll show you where you'll be staying," I turned and walked away, Aventus jogging up next to me. He was loud, even when he walked. Very loud.  
"Oh. What do you mean by that?"  
"The Dark Brotherhood is an elite group of assassins, a Family, and we accept what most others shun. Werewolves, vampires, psychopaths, murderers… you name it, and there's a chance it's been in our Family –"  
"What does this have to do with Babette?" Aventus interjected. I sighed impatiently, coming to a halt in the middle of the training room  
"She wasn't finished, Boy," Babette said softly, appearing in front of us. "I am a vampire. So _respect_ your _elders_."  
He stared at her, taking a step back, reaching for his axe. Babette giggled; a surprisingly innocent sound as she grinned at him, her sharp canines glinting in the low firelight. Arnbjorn growled his laugh as he came out from the forge. "Some new meat. Hope you last, Steak," he shouldered past Aventus to find Astrid. I hoped they wouldn't be too noisy…. I raised a brow at Arnbjorn's back. I hated being in the Sanctuary with them if one had been away. Aventus looked confused. "Werewolf," Babette and I answered at the same time. We grinned at each other. "His name is Arnbjorn, Astrid's husband. This way to the sleeping quarters," I said, waving him along. Babette just stared after us, smiling too sweetly at Aventus. I took him the long way around, to the beds first. He started bugging me with questions about the Family, history, the Night Mother, Sithis…. As soon as we were in the passage I stopped him. "Aventus, I will tell you all I know, and more, but not now. Don't ask why, and don't ask too much of the others. _I_ will tell you later, in private. Things are in motion right now that are causing some… _tension_. I will explain, I promise you that, but not now." He looked dejected. But he nodded sullenly. I nodded curtly. "Good, come. Now, Sithis is –"  
Someone slammed into me. I _hated_ living in a Sanctuary full of sneaky assassins. I struggled briefly, but quickly found myself pinned between a wall, and guess who? My favorite jester. I took a deep breath. "I will _kill_ you if you do that again," I threatened.  
"The Listener would break one of the Five Tenants?" Cicero teased. I wasn't entirely sure if I should be grateful I was facing him and not the wall.  
"Listener? Five Tenants?" Aventus muttered. I tuned him out.  
"The Listener isn't very good at surprise attacks," Cicero chided, his body very close to me, his nose almost touching mine. I had the urge to wrinkle my nose, and struggled to ignore it.  
"_He_," I twitched my head in Aventus's direction, "isn't a very good backup partner," I returned.  
Cicero giggled.  
"What's going on? Who is he really?" Aventus asked warily.  
"Cicero thinks you should send the boy to him afterwards. Cicero wants to _teach_ him something. And Cicero thinks the Listener isn't very well prepared for anything to happen at any time…" Cicero pushed off the wall, backing away. I hadn't realized how warm he had been so close to me – I already missed his warmth. I narrowed my eyes slightly at the jester, a smile playing my lips. "This is one of the things you plan on 'teaching' me, isn't it?" I asked. I hadn't really expected an answer, so Cicero's twinkling eyes and grin before he turned and skipped away told me it was. I sighed: I just hoped he would have the sense not to irritate me when I was in my bed – as much as I liked the fool, I might hurt him by accident if he tried to wake me up again. I sniggered at the memory of my first fight with Cicero – I suppose I hadn't really been winning, but I wasn't going to admit that to anyone. Not over my dead body. "Alysa? Who is that creep? I hadn't even heard him coming…."  
I frowned at Aventus. "That 'creep' is the Night Mother's Keeper, Cicero, so you'll treat him with due respect. And that's how an assassin _should_ move – silently. When I'm done with you, you can go find out what he wants." Calling Cicero a 'creep'… I shook my head. Delusional, crazy, sadistic… well, I suppose it all added up to that but I really couldn't say that was how _I_ felt about him.  
Aventus sighed, then breathed a 'whoa' when he took in our sleeping quarters. It wasn't much, but I supposed he thought the spot above the dining hall was cozy. "Don't be so thrilled – it's the worst if there's a party in the dining hall and you're trying to sleep. Trust me, I would know," I said, pointing to the stairs. Aventus nodded next to me as he peered over the edge. "There aren't really any rules concerning the beds, but we all have our preferences. Since you're the newest recruit, and the other beds are all taken while the members are at home, you're the lucky sucker who gets to sleep closest to the stairs." I showed him to his bed. It was probably the lightest spot in this part of the Sanctuary, and by far the noisiest, not counting downstairs at a time like last night… I felt my cheeks color a little at the thought of everything I had done, and couldn't remember. "You have a chest, which you can use freely – no-one will take anything from it, or open it without your permission, or unless need calls for an intervention," I turned to face him. He looked a little put off that he had such an unfortunate place to sleep, but thank the Night Mother and Sithis it was his problem. "Thanks, Alysa. Uhm, why does Chickpea call you a 'listener'?"  
I glared at him. Cicero would have a fit if he heard that. Well, Aventus could learn _that_ the hard way: he barely even noticed my glare. I hoped he wasn't going to have some stupid puppy-love directed at me. "_Cicero_ calls me the Listener because it's my title in the Dark Brotherhood, one of the things I will explain to you later. And probably what he wants to tell you as well…." I motioned him to follow me down the stairs. "Dining hall," I said, crossing the room and heading up the short flight of stone steps to Babette's lab and hang-out area for all the arcane users. Interestingly, Nazir was sitting at the table across from Gabrielle. I wasn't sure about their friendship, because they were rarely together but sometimes seemed as if they had been friends since birth. "Ah, the new blood, I presume. I am Nazir," the Redguard greeted. I always loved the sound of his voice: rich, deep and perfect for telling stories. And tell stories he could. I nodded curtly. "Aventus Aretino," Aventus said, holding out a hand to Nazir.  
"Fingers for my blade? You're too kind, boy," Nazir said, shifting in his seat as he stared first at Aventus's fingers then his face. I sniggered at how quickly Aventus had curled his fingers into a fist. Festus and Babette emerged from Liz's hovel. "Listener," Festus greeted when he saw me. Then he glanced over Aventus. "Eh, I don't have time for this 'new blood'," he said, grumbling some more before wandering to another part of the Sanctuary.  
"That's Festus Krex. To describe him in his own words, he's the grumpy uncle everyone generally avoids," I said when Aventus looked my way. He frowned in amazement – I had only seen him out of the corner of my eye.  
"You have a lot to learn, boy. Between the lot of us here, you'll learn how to stay alive and kill. Or you'll die young, like most of them do," Nazir said, resting his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. He was dangerous with that blade, and it was one I doubted I would ever master. "Has he met the fool yet?" Nazir quizzed.  
I half-shook, half-nodded my head. "Sort of, though not officially. We're headed to the Night Mother now," I said. Gabrielle hummed something, and Nazir nodded, looking mildly interested in what she was doing. Babette just grinned at us. Aventus seemed thrilled to get away from the little vampire.

* * *

Veezara must have left on some contract or outing because he wasn't anywhere in the Sanctuary that I had passed until now. I took Aventus straight to the Night Mother's chambers, where Cicero was humming and dancing. I stood in the door, leaning against the frame as I watched the Fool of Hearts. Aventus sniffed and shifted behind me, his hand moving to his axe. By Sithis, was he always this loud?! It was very annoying, and it had Cicero's attention immediately. "Cicero thinks his new brother is too loud to be a very good assassin…" he frowned, facing us as I came in to sit cross-legged on the table. I just smiled. Oh, the fun we would have when we taught Aventus to be quiet…. A recruit came in about three years ago, who would have made Aventus seem silent if he was still alive. He was killed completing a contract because he refused to learn to be quiet. Idiot. Though, it was quite funny to see him shredded to pieces by the Orc beserker.

Aventus looked wary when he saw the Night Mother's coffin. It was closed, so he wouldn't see the mummified corpse inside, but he would. Eventually. "What exactly is that?" he asked, nodding at the coffin.  
"Why, Cicero thinks the boy is blind! It's a _coffin_, silly!" Cicero giggled, prancing a little. I held back my own giggles, but I was still grinning. Aventus wasn't having an especially kind welcome to the Family. His face went a shade of red, and he floundered for a few seconds. "That's the Night Mother's coffin. She is our Unholy Matron, and she is the one who guides us, and gives us purpose," I said, flicking my loose hair out of my face. "She speaks only to the assassin who holds the title of Listener, and at present I am that assassin."  
"And sweet, humble Cicero is the Keeper! He looks after our Mother, and keeps her safe!" Cicero grinned broadly, his hand hovering over his ebony blade. I got the feeling he didn't like the other Imperial all that much. Aventus nodded slowly, leaning against a counter at the back of the room. "I heard. But isn't she a corpse? And what about Sithis? Are there other Sanctuaries, other assassins? Why are there so few here?"  
Cicero and I exchanged a quick glance. We'd have our hands full with him. I think we both agreed that he would learn from the beginning what it meant to respect and obey the Night Mother, and her closest assassins – the Listener, the Speakers, and the Keeper. Not that we had all of that yet, mind you. But we would, if it was all up to me, and I was sure Cicero agreed to that. So we spent the rest of the day taking turns to explain the history of the Dark Brotherhood, our connections with Sithis and the Night Mother, and how we were the only Sanctuary left, the only remaining Family of a once-great and feared Brotherhood, as well as the Five Tenants. Though, I left that to Cicero – I didn't know them all that well. I supposed I should, considering my current position within the Sanctuary. Aventus seemed saddened by the loss of it all, and he was beginning to understand why there would be issues with the other members where the Night Mother, Cicero and I was concerned. Though, he hadn't quite experienced the tension yet. Cicero stared at me for a while. "Honorable Listener, humble Cicero would like to speak with… _Aventus_, alone. If the great and mighty Listener would allow…"  
Aventus glanced between me and Cicero. "Should I call you 'Listener', too?"  
I looked at my new brother. "Technically yes, but for the sake of peace in this Sanctuary, no. Many will see it as an attack on Astrid's position. I'm not interested in a great divide just yet: we're a small Family, and we need to stay unified. And Cicero, of course you can," I smiled, unfolding my legs and slipping off the table. "Just don't slice him to bits and pieces." I winked at Cicero, and smirked at Aventus. I needed to find Astrid and see if she had made up her mind about Amaund, and later Nazir for my pay. I had forgotten about that in all the excitement.

* * *

Cicero sighed happily when he sent his new brother off. He thinks this new one understands to leave sweet Alysa alone when not training with her. He had better, or Cicero would teach him…. About being a good assassin _and_ irritating the Listener. Oh, beloved Mother, the Brotherhood is growing again! Cicero is so pleased… and to think that Cicero will be a part of it, with the mighty Listener to guide us as you direct her…. Cicero giggles, and jumps up and down, down and up! It's such a happy time for the Dark Brotherhood, so much killing and assassinating to do, and gold to be made! All for you, sweet Night Mother, and to bring souls to our Dread Father.


	12. 12: Astrid's Decision

**A/N:** I just wanna start this one with a huge **Thank You** to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited and followed this story, especially my 'regulars' – **lilidove, SorenDevin, SkullKing223,** and **YuePantera** – you guys rock and you make my day every time I see a review from you:D True story;) So, to everyone else, I'd love a quick review from you, even if it's just a few words. So, may Sithis guide your blade just as the Night Mother wraps you in her cold embrace, Brothers and Sisters. Oh, and I took out artistic license with Festus' race, considering he's only classed as 'Elder' in game; I thought this one fit him best (you'll understand when you see it:))

**Chapter 12: Astrid's Decision**

I found Astrid and Arnbjorn in their separate room; the wolf was in a very casual pair of pants, and Astrid was propped up on an elbow on the bed, pulling the covers over herself when I opened the door after I knocked and was called in. I just resisted wrinkling my nose in disgust – could they at least _pretend_ to be decent? I couldn't help but remember what Cicero called Astrid – a pretender. I supposed it was accurate enough. "Astrid, I was just wondering –"  
"Yes, I want to speak to you about Amaund. I'll meet you just outside in a few," she said, a lazy smile on her face. I nodded curtly, closing the door behind me.  
Thank Sithis she was quick. I wasn't particularly patient with her before, and now that she kept questioning and second-guessing what was happening only served to irritate me more, never minding the fact that she distrusted me because I was Listener. It all added fuel to my fire. Had I not asked _her_ if I should go speak to Amaund? Had I not turned to _her_ even though I could over-rule her now? I had _still_ turned to my leader about it, despite the fact that I could easily have overridden her, and taken her place – I still respected her enough to do that. Was she so jealous she was acting petty? I watched her as she leaned against the wall, crossing her arms even as I folded mine across my chest. "Look. Something is happening here. I'm not sure entirely what that something is, but…. Well, we need to find out. If the Night Mother really _did_ give you an order to talk to a contact, we'd be mad to ignore it. And I think we'd both agree – Cicero's brought quite enough madness to this Sanctuary. So go. Go to Volunruud. It's a crypt, pretty far to the northeast. Talk to this… _Amaund Motierre_. And let's see where all this leads. Hmm?"  
"Hn. I've already been there; he's given me details about what he wants done. I'll fetch the items," I said, ignoring her look of shocked outrage and strode to my chest, quickly removing the letter and the amulet and brought them back to a flabbergasted Astrid. She straightened for long enough to take the items from me. She examined the amulet, then put it on the table, the letter next to it. "All right, so? What did he want?"  
"He wants the Emperor assassinated."  
"You're joking," Astrid blurted. I raised my brow, looking pointedly at the letter and amulet. She quickly opened the letter, and read it quickly. "By Sithis, you're _not_ joking…. To kill the Emperor of Tamriel… the Dark Brotherhood hasn't done such a thing since the assassination of Pelagius! As a matter of fact, no-one has dared assassinate an Emperor of Tamriel since the murder of Uriel Septim, and that was two hundred years ago…" her voice was full of awe.  
I nodded lazily. "So we'll accept it?"  
"You're damn right we'll accept it!" Astrid exclaimed, putting the letter down. "If we pull this off, the Dark Brotherhood will know a fear and respect we haven't seen in _centuries__! _You think I'd abandon an opportunity to lead my Family to glory?" she scoffed. I didn't bother reminding her that the only reason we would get this glory is because of what _I_ had done, because the Night Mother had chosen _me_. She shook her head as she picked up the letter again. "But this is all so much to take in… I need more time to re-read the letter, and figure out where we go from here. And this amulet… hmmm…."  
"What are you thinking?" I asked.  
"I'm thinking we need this amulet appraised. I want to know where it came from, how much it's worth, and if we can actually get away with selling it. There's only one man who can give us what we need – Delvin Mallory," she finished, looking proud of herself. I stared at her blankly. Her grin faltered a little. "He's a fence, a private operator. Works out of the Ratway, in Riften. I'll keep the letter, you take the amulet to Mallory. Find out everything you can, and sell it if he's willing. He'll probably offer a letter of credit – that's fine. Mallory and the Dark Brotherhood have… _history_. He can be trusted."  
"Fine with me," I said, taking the amulet. "I want to take Aventus with me, to see how he can handle himself on the road and train him while we're out there."  
Astrid just narrowed her eyes slightly at me. "If he'll go with you, then you can take him."  
I sniffed, then left. This would be interesting. I didn't get very far, though.

"_Alysaaa…_" Babette sang, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes glinting.  
"Babette," I returned, matching her tone but I ended up sounding wary instead of innocent. She sidled up a little closer to me, grinning broadly in that way only a vampire can grin. I wondered what this was about. I raised my brows at her. "Sooo… I didn't get a chance to ask you earlier when you were with the new blood, and this morning I was so _very_ tired, but, you and Cicero –"  
"Nope. Nothing happened between me and Cicero," I interjected just too quickly. She was going to call me out on that one…. I frowned at her. It was surely only afternoon now. "Why _are_ you awake, Babette?"  
She sighed, shuffling her feet as her grin faded. "Gabrielle agreed to be a… _donor_." Drinking blood gave Babette energy, and she wasn't particularly fond of drinking from any of us – mostly to keep everyone in top form if the Penitus Oculatus agents found our Sanctuary. Babette grinned again, looking up at me as she continued. "So, Cicero running after you last night was nothing, never minding the fact that you didn't _quite_ make it back to your _own_ bed…?" Her eyes were glinting.  
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I felt my face grow warm with a blush, and I ran my hands over my face and through my hair. Babette was grinning impishly at me. "Oh, I know nothing happened, but it's good to see you happy, Alysa. Couldn't resist a little teasing, especially since our new brother seems to have a crush on you…" her eyes twinkled, and she turned away from me. Before she glided away to another part of the Sanctuary, she said over her shoulder, "Just take care of yourself, Alysa. I don't wa-_need_ to have to fix you if something goes sour." She left without another sound. I allowed a small half-smile: I had always considered Babette as my closest friend in the Sanctuary, and her rare moments of sincere caring were seemingly reserved just for me. But she was right: Aventus _did_ seem to have a crush of sorts on me… Sithis help me, things were going to get rough in here…. And if both of us noticed it, the whole Sanctuary would be buzzing with it for weeks.

* * *

Aventus had eagerly agreed to accompany me, and Arnbjorn had returned my things to me a little while after he fitted our new brother in new armor – _that_ little appointment lasted well into the early evening. Aventus had been surprised at how easily he could move in it, and he was also much quieter than before, which was a miracle. Enchantments made a world of difference. But he would need much more teaching if he had even half a hope to make it through his first contract, never minding anything else. Someone was cooking something that smelled wonderful, and I let my nose guide my feet to the dining hall, where I found Nazir reclining on a bench with a large tankard of something in hand, bantering with Festus about spices and food. The two made very different kinds of food, but they were both delicious. I sat on the fence whenever they argued over whose was better and why that was true. I shook my head, smirking as I planted myself next to Nazir on the bench's arm. "Well, I owe you some money for that competition last night. Apparently, you won. I can't say I ever saw that coming, little Ice-Wrath," Nazir rumbled, laughing at the expression on my face. I _hated_ being called 'little', even if it was only an endearment; and a fairly accurate one at that. "That you do. Plus the pay for my contracts; you haven't paid me for them yet," I nodded.  
"Hm, yes: wait here and I'll fetch the coin; no, really, your offer is unnecessary," he replied dryly, ignoring the fact that I hadn't even been given a chance to speak. He stood and headed up the stairs to his chest. I sighed happily.  
"So; you're the Listener, Alysa," Festus said, glancing at me before he tasted whatever he was cooking. He scrunched his face, smacking his lips. "No, no: that won't do… now, where did I put that…?" he thought aloud, and I smiled. Watching Festus cook, craft spells – despite how much magic freaked me out – or make the odd potion was always entertaining. I doubted he could do it quietly, and certainly not even in silence. "Yes, Festus: I am the new Listener," I replied. I had been Listener for just over nine months: it suddenly got me thinking – the Night Mother had been silent until she mentioned Cicero briefly this morning, and then she had stilled. Surely there were hundreds of outstanding contracts across Tamriel? Or, was she just giving preference to this specific one? I shook my head in thought. "…Alysa?" Festus asked.  
"What? I didn't get that," I replied, looking at the old Breton assassin.  
He frowned at me, grumbling something to himself before speaking louder, a scowl faintly etched over his face. "Have you heard the Night Mother speak? What was her voice like?"  
I think he saw I was struggling to find the words to describe the Night Mother's voice. I just nodded, and Nazir came down the stairs again, a large, fat coinpurse in hand. I mulled over the right words to use to explain the cold terror I had felt the first time I heard our matron speak, and the cold, calculating calm the second time around. It was enthralling, addictive…. "Well, little Ice-Wrath –" I growled at Nazir, and he chuckled unfazed. "– Here is you pay, one hundred gold per target – so three hundred as you took three contracts – and the extra hundred for beating me last night," he handed me the purse. I loved the weighted feel of gold in my hands, especially after a contract well-done. And the bonus of beating Nazir – that was a feat well-done, despite my new no-repeat policy: I would have liked to try it again. "Good doing business with you," I said, holding the coinpurse in my hands. I sat down on the bench, Nazir next to me. "So, you and Festus over there were talking about the Night Mother and you being the legendary 'Listener'…." Nazir was good at prompting information.  
I took his bait, and nodded. "Festus just asked me what it was like to hear her voice. I can't say that I can really describe it: it was terrifying the first time, and the second time just cleared my head. I felt like I was only made for killing in that moment…." I let my thoughts wander over the training today. I felt both of my elder brothers' incredulous eyes on me. "Yes," I snapped. "It was terrifying the first time. I've never experienced anything like it before, and Sithis and the Night Mother know I'll make damned well sure I _never_ have to experience that kind of terror ever again." I glared at both of them in turn.  
Festus gave me that look I had come to recognize as the one he wore when considering using magic on another member. I narrowed my eyes at him, about to make his choice about magic for him when Gabrielle glided in. "Ah, yes: I can imagine the Night Mother's voice must be cold, and full of an ancient fear-inspiring quality… I almost wish I was you, just to be able to hear her," she said dreamily. The dark elf swayed a little, and I wondered for the millionth time if she had a secret Skooma stash no-one knew about, or if her arcane skills made her this way. Then I suddenly remembered Babette had drunk some of her blood. _That would make her tired, not dreamy,_ I thought, looking her over. She smiled under her hood, 'hmm'-ed and headed up the stairs without another word. Festus, Nazir and I stared after her with a collective snort. Even the old Breton managed a brief chuckle. Aventus swung into the room, almost crashing into my bench. He looked breathless from excitement, with a new glass war axe in his belt. I rolled my eyes. "Who let you into the armory?"  
"Arnbjorn let me choose any weapon, as many as I liked, and this one; it's, it's just so…" he trailed off, pulling it out of his belt and admired it. Nazir and I exchanged a glance. Aventus's bubbly personality meant he was going to rave about it for at least a week. I suddenly realized I would be the only outlet for that week. "Good luck, Alysa. Try not to come back with the axe only," Nazir laughed. The joke was entirely missed by the young Imperial. His loss, my gain!  
The rest of the Family trickled in, short of Babette, Gabrielle and Veezara. Even Astrid an Arnbjorn decided to grace us with their presence. I could feel Nazir give me a strange look, noticing the shadow that fell over my face. Cicero's loud appearance a few moments after dinner was served cheered me up a little – at least it wasn't _so_ bad anymore. Astrid started talking about the contract from Amaund, planning a series of spy operations across the country. No-one said anything, but the odd glance kept coming my way. I was sure Cicero was about to correct Astrid when Veezara walked in. "You! Where've you been?" I asked, turning in my seat to look at my favorite Shadowscale.  
He held up a few quails and two rabbits. "Hunting. They were quite easy to trap, really," he said.  
Nazir and Festus had their first showdown. "You're not spoiling those perfectly delectable creatures, Festus! This _gump_ you call 'food' would waste the tender meat on those quails and rabbits!"  
Festus went a shade of red. "You dare insult my superior cooking?! Bah, you can barely spice the meat without burning down the Sanctuary! I –"  
I tuned them out. They'd be at it for a while still. Aventus was next to me, and watched them intently before grinning and turning to Cicero, who sat across from him. Veezara put his catch on another table to deal with a bit later. "So, Chickpea –"  
"_Cicero_ doesn't like being called that," the Keeper warned, not looking at his younger kinsman. This was going to be very interesting after all. If only the two chefs would shut up…. But Aventus kept insisting on using 'Chickpea'. I briefly considered telling him to stop it, but I closed my mouth. I could almost see the smoke coming out of Cicero's ears, and I wasn't about to waste an opportunity that could teach Aventus a little something. I smirked.

* * *

Chickpea… _Chickpea_… _CHICKPEA?!_ Oh, sweet Mother, who does he think he is?! "Ok, well…" Aventus said to Cicero. Calling the Keeper 'Chickpea'… Cicero remembers the last one who called him 'Chickpea' – Cicero poisoned him – paralyzed him – and skinned him alive! Cicero grins at the memory. Hehehe, oh, it was funny! Do you remember, sweet Mother, loving Mother? Of course you do! That's how you told the old Listener to tell the old Speakers to find Cicero! So grateful he is, oh Night Mother! "What are you grinning about?" the boy asked.  
"Cicero? What _this_ Cicero grinning about?" Alysa was watching, her eyes shining. Oh, such pretty eyes… such pretty-pretty blue-gray eyes…. She looked like she was expecting trouble. Cicero wondered if she wanted to tell the boy to be quiet.  
"Yep, Chickpea. What are you grinning about, Chickpea –"  
Cicero snarled, punching Aventus. "Cicero told the boy he _doesn't like being called CHICKPEA!_"  
Alysa was cackling darkly. Nazir and the wonderful old Breton Festus stopped arguing, and the Redguard even seemed a little amused, but it was hard for Cicero to tell. It was just the boy's cheek, but really, he should have _some_ respect in the Family. He was rubbing his cheek, and Cicero sat down again. Astrid the pretender just looked on wide-eyed, so did her lapdog. Horrid, mean old wolf…. Cicero _still_ doesn't like them. Cicero frowned at his plate. "Now Cicero doesn't feel like eating, and this is the _best_ food since humble Cicero has arrived! Cicero is so very grateful to have such a master chef to prepare food for him and the Family! Much better than Nazir…" Cicero frowned at Nazir after all his grinning. He really _did_ like the wizard's food best. It was just better, like magic! Oh, oh! Magic food from a magic man! Cicero giggled. "Magic food from a magic man!"  
Festus had to smile: Cicero saw that! He did, he did, he did! Cicero saw the smile! "Well, I do try…" Festus admitted, looking smugly at Nazir. So sarcastic, but Cicero thinks he might have liked him, if he wasn't so sarcastic. But Cicero will never know! "Hey, he punched me!" the boy exclaimed.  
Alysa sniggered, leaning close to Aventus over the table. Cicero wasn't jealous, no, not at all… not even a _little_ bit…. "Welcome to the Family!"  
The table broke into laughter, and Cicero saw Alysa had water in her tankard after her third mead. He raised his brows at it when she looked his way. The Listener rolled her eyes at sweet Cicero. Oh, Night Mother, Cicero _does_ like the Listener so much…. The pretender and her lapdog left as soon as _their_ dinner was finished, and Veezara brought out cards, and the table played for a while, eventually gambling later on. Festus left when the gambling started, and Babette was working at her lab – Cicero saw her come in looking for ingredients that she didn't have there. She watched the round end, then went back to making potions. Cicero smelled some awful smells, sweet Mother. Alysa was a fair player, but after she won twice in a row, Cicero wondered briefly if she was cheating. She even winked at Cicero! Now he was sure she wasn't playing fair… but she also said Goodnight at the third round of gambling. Now Cicero was winning! Oh, he _loved_ taking from Nazir and Aventus! Cicero was giggling and cackling the whole time, and he told jokes, too! Even the one with the horker's husband! Hehehe, Cicero likes that one… but he knows his limits. Cicero must leave to stay with the Night Mother, and he was glad the Argonian and Redguard were beating little Aventus at cards once he left. So long as he knew his place in the Family, and didn't call dear Cicero 'Chickpea' again, he'd be fine, just fine, don't you think, beloved Mother?


	13. 13: To the Rift and the Ratway

**A/N:** Well, here's another one! Yay!XD Haha, alright, ok, I'll spare you all my excited energy. Probably because of the short moment of cutenessXD I just can't help but smile whenever I think of it – maybe it's just me, let me know. Anyway, on other news: Alysa will soon be on my deviantArt profile, so I'll keep you posted on when she's available for viewing. I'd put an estimate on halfway through lineart at the current state of things, so I should be done in two weeks, maybe more, maybe less (hopefully the latter). So, that's about it, enjoy, and review! Sithis guide your blade.

**Chapter 13: To the Rift and the Ratway**

"So you're leaving _again_, dear Listener?" Cicero asked – well, maybe he _whined_. He couldn't believe it – barely two days and she was leaving again! Cicero pouted when she nodded. "Sweet sister, dear Listener, can't someone _else_ go?"  
"No, Cicero: everyone else is busy, and the thieves will eat Aventus alive before he could ask which way was up," she folded the last of her things into a pack.  
"Cicero admits, that would be funny," he smiles, "but really, what if they eat _you_, and Cicero _never_ sees the Listener _again?_"  
The Listener sighed. "Cicero, they'll really need a lot of help if they want to try and eat me – I promise you, I will come back. It's little more than a two-month journey there and back; I'll be back soon, and then for at _least_ one month, considering what Astrid has heard about the wedding, and they're still _planning_ it, so probably longer." She turned to face Cicero at the foot of her bed, smirking coyly. "But I'll miss you too, Fool of Hearts."  
Cicero's heart stopped. She would miss him?! The great and mighty Listener, his sister Alysa, would _miss_ him? Cicero grinned, bouncing on his feet and gave Alysa a bear hug! Well, Cicero supposes it was a _Cicero_ hug, since a _Cicero_ was giving it. "Uhm…" she breathed, tense and stiff like a plank of wood! Terrible terrible, really….  
"It's rude not to hug back, mighty Listener," Cicero whispered into her ear. The Listener sighed, and slowly put her arms around Cicero. She was warm and soft, if not all that womanly like so many others Cicero had seen – they were just _too _big. But this Listener, this Alysa, was perfect for sweet, humble Cicero. "Uhm, let go now, Cicero," Alysa said. Cicero heaved a sigh. "If anything goes wrong, I'll still have Aventus too look out for me," she said, turning back to her pack very quickly when Cicero let go. Cicero didn't know what words to say, so his mouth made them all, fisting his hands. _Aventus_? That little boy? Cicero doubts he could save himself from a twig…. "Cicero doesn't trust the new boy… but very well. _OH!_ Cicero has something for the Listener! Wait for Cicero! He'll bring it quickly!" How could Cicero forget, sweet Mother? He had asked the un-child to make those special ice poisons for Alysa, like that one she had used on the bard! Cicero giggles as he skips into his chambers. He wishes he could have seen that! Ha ha ha! He he he! Oh, so _funny_! _So_ funny! "There!" he quickly grabbed the small wooden six-pack box and cradled it in his arms, all the way back to his glorious, powerful Listener! Oh, the Listener… such an honor! Such an honor! Not that Cicero isn't honored to be Keeper, oh Night Mother! Heh…. "Here!" Cicero exclaims when he returns to Alysa sitting on her bed. He holds the box out to his Listener. "Cicero asked the un-child to make these especially for you – the same ones you used on the bard! Cicero hopes you like them…" Cicero watched her face light up, standing and taking the box. She looked at them, and then at Cicero, once more, twice more. She seemed a little awestruck to Cicero, really.  
"Cicero, I…" she trailed, her eyes shining happily.  
"Hey, Alysa! We're gonna be late!" Aventus called from somewhere else in the Sanctuary. Cicero frowned, and Alysa quickly made space for the poison in her pack, tying it off and hefting it onto her fine shoulders. Cicero marvelled at her belying appearance. She looked indecisive to Cicero, fiddling with the straps over her shoulders. Cicero cocked his head to one side. Then she surprised Cicero: she stepped forwards, cupped Cicero's right cheek and lightly kissed his left. Cicero could have sworn she was blushing when she quickly strode away. Cicero felt that silly, big grin grow! Oh, sweet Night Mother! Hail Sithis! Cicero giggled, and danced! "Yes! Oh, yes! Bless the Listener, Night Mother! Bless her, Sithis!" Cicero called, skipping after Alysa. Cicero was sure she felt the same about him as he felt about her. Pity he couldn't go with to Riften…. But he waved goodbye, and he could see the same silly, big grin trying to come out on his dear Listener's face when she turned to leave with the boy.

* * *

I'd never felt so nervous in my life. What had I been thinking?! Kissing Cicero on the cheek… I felt a grin spread on my face despite myself, enjoying the cool, crisp air of Skyrim as I tried vainly to calm my racing heart. I walked a little straighter; my pack weighed down a little more by the bottles of poison Cicero had asked Babette to make me. I felt light, happy – and I giggled as I looked up at the sky. Aventus gave me a strange look. "And now?" he asked.  
I glanced at him. "None of your business. But if you haven't guessed, I'm feeling particularly happy. So shut up, and let me enjoy myself."  
I walked a little faster to Falkreath, eager to move past the town. I had told Aventus to bring his Stormcloak armor with him after briefly re-explaining our long-standing feud with the Penitus Oculatus agents. He had pursed his lips about it, but agreed nonetheless. I had packed my plain leather armor, too. And we were walking. It put a slight dampener on my mood, really… it would be anywhere between little over a month and two months on the road, and that was assuming things went well. I supposed I _should_ buy passage to at least one of the smaller villages to speed things up. Falkreath came into view, and Aventus whistled softly next to me. I raised a brow at him. "Never seen the place before?"  
He shook his head. "Never seen the graveyard…" he nodded in its direction. I pursed my lips and quickly dipped my head – a small edge of the graveyard was visible from our route, and it was still massive. "Is it really as big as they say it is?"  
"It's bigger when you start walking through it," I replied, shifting my pack. My bow and quiver hung on my hip, and my hair was braided a-la-Babette. Gabrielle hadn't been particularly chatty after her dreamy state from the night before. I thought of the amulet I was wearing under my armor, and how much it would be worth… I hoped more than five-thousand, at the very least. But, only Delvin would know. A few people in town spared Aventus and me a few wary glances as we headed through the other side. My companion grumbled next to me, but I wasn't about to waste time for comfort. I didn't know all that much about the Ratway, but I knew enough to know we could probably find lodging there – thieves lived down there, after all.

* * *

I had initially planned on taking the scenic route along the roads, but decided cutting across the country would be much faster after it became apparent we wouldn't get a cart to take us. At least this way, it would help me judge Aventus's abilities and skills better. I had some interesting games planned out for him… I smirked. This would be fun. I knew a few mountain passes that would give us enough freedom to deviate, but were restricting enough that Aventus couldn't get lost. Unless he was some sort of idiot, really. Though I doubted that, and he should have some basic wilderness skills from his time with the Stormcloaks, so I'd start him off based on that.

Over the next two weeks in the mountains, Aventus had quickly learned about staying warm. Being a Nord, it didn't bother me as much, but it was still chilly at times, especially when I got wet for whatever reason. I sent him off on hunting trips most of the time, then followed a short while after he was gone to see how aware he was of his surroundings. The first three times, I could have snapped a branch and he wouldn't have noticed. He didn't even realize I had left the camp. So I started making him aware of the little things, and had him meditate at times just to listen. An assassin who couldn't sense change was a dead assassin. After that, his hunting trips were a little more cautious, a little more aware of his surroundings. He caught his prey faster, but struggled to notice me at times. Eventually, we spent most of our traveling days playing this game, and I finally decided to test out what Aventus thought he knew. So I switched our positions – I would lead, he would follow. At least twice a day I'd shake him, circle back and he would end up with my daggers at his neck. It was pitiful, really. But he quickly learnt to ask questions and discuss strategies, and he slowly got better. By the time we passed the Ruins of Bthalft, he could just parry my attack. So we switched again, and our travels were considerably shortened as we tried to shake the other. I often succeeded in losing him through the night, and Aventus had an easier time tracking when the trail was almost cold. We followed the road when we came across it, and little over a week later we arrived at the western gate of Riften. A small coinpurse bought us anonymity and passage into the city, and the smell of the river was stronger, worse than outside. A small market was set up in the center of the town, and we headed over for information. I had no doubt the guards could provide me with the whereabouts of the Ratway, but I wasn't particularly interested in raising suspicions. Aventus had a scowl on his face. "Fond memories of Honorhall, hey?" I asked offhandedly, and Aventus snorted in reply.  
"Only the time you showed up to kill Grelod and when you came to tell me she was dead."  
I grinned, but he looked a little wistful, as if he had made friends in the orphanage that he had lost touch with. "Do you know where the Ratway is?"  
"The Ratway?" my companion asked, shocked.  
I nodded curtly. "We need to get inside. Do you know where it is?"  
He shook his head. "Sorry, no: I just know the Thieves Guild is there. I didn't hear all that much about it as a kid."  
"Hmm." I had counted on it being common knowledge, and I didn't want to ask a random stranger or a guard in case we raised suspicions. I walked over to the stalls, my cowl and hood around my neck like a black and red scarf, a cloak covering my armor. Aventus was dressed similarly, except his cloak was warmer than mine. "Buy us a room at the Bee and Barb for three days, I'll start looking so long," I said softly, handing him my pack and sauntered towards beggars. I knelt beside a woman. "The Ratway," I said, putting a handful of coins into her hands. The filthy old woman widened her eyes, quickly snatching the coins away. "Come," she said, standing surprisingly quickly and leading me down a flight of stairs to the river, across a makeshift walkway to a door. "I' the'e," she said pointing, then scurried away. I looked around, making sure I had the route memorized as I went back up to the main city. It was almost twilight, and too late for a run-in with thieves – they weren't a particularly diplomatic bunch, like us assassins. We'd head down in the morning. I found Aventus in the common room, and told him what I knew. He nodded, and we had a hearty meal that the Argonian proprietors cooked up. I narrowed my eyes when a well-dressed, wealthy-looking girl around Aventus's age walked in, and a look of wondrous recognition crossed his face. As he made to stand, I put a hand over his arm. He frowned at me. "Be careful of what you say to whom; one slip up to the wrong person is a betrayal, and betrayal only happens once per member…" I purred lowly, enjoying the expression he wore when he realized what I insinuated. He followed her with his eyes as she just glided by with the grace of an aristocrat, to embrace a man who looked to be her lover. Aventus fell into his chair again, his shoulders sagging a little. "I used to know her," he murmured wistfully, turning back to me, and stared at the half-eaten plate of food. I just nodded. Emotions and dealing with them were new to me; I wasn't the right person to hand out advice.

* * *

Cicero sighed, chin in hand as he sat at his table. It was lonely without the Mighty Listener! A grin creeps over his face. Ooh-hoo-hoo! The Listener had _kissed_ Cicero! On the _cheek!_ And Cicero was sure she had blushed… Cicero giggled, jumping up and skipping to Mother. "Oh, Mother! 'Tis a wonderful day! Lonely, yes, but Cicero has memories to _make_ the day wonderful! Oh, sweet Night Mother, Unholy Matron, how _IS_ your Listener? Is she well? In Riften? Perhaps on her way back already? But no, it's too soon for that… so Cicero wonders. But Cicero knows _you_ know! And Cicero _knows_ you will look after your Listener, won't you, Mother? Cicero hopes so! Cicero _knows_ so, he he," Cicero stopped, almost waiting for the Night Mother to speak. But she didn't. Not to Cicero, anyway. Cicero wonders what she sounds like… he'll have to ask Alysa! Alysa will tell him! Oh, he misses that pretty little Nord… Cicero wonders what she's doing, if that horrid Imperial Aventus was trying to court her…. Maybe Cicero should have _another_ talk with the boy when they returned. Make sure he _understands_ his place in the Family. Cicero sighed heavily. Maybe he should train, keep fit and get his mind of the new blood. Cicero took his ebony dagger, locked the Night Mother and his chambers, and made his way to the training area. Humble Cicero wishes Alysa was already home…. Cicero watched Festus cast spells at the dummies, setting them on fire, electrocuting them, freezing them… Cicero had always found magic interesting, but he could really only cast a basic healing spell and some Destruction magic: a very simple fireball, and one called Sparks, but Cicero had forgotten how to do the last one…. He should ask Festus about that one again. But after he trained. Cicero settled into his fight easily, remembering how quickly he had to learn to protect his many Families from the Penitus Oculatus… Cicero snarled at the thought of those dogs! He fought harder, faster with the air. Finally he stopped. Someone clapped. "Impressive, Keeper. Perhaps you would like something to fight against?"  
Cicero turned to see Festus still in the training area. He nodded quickly, breathing deeply. It's been a while since he's trained like this. Cicero is enjoying it. "Wait a moment, though, for dear Cicero," Cicero said, quickly pulling off his cap and shirt: he doesn't want to be too hot, and he doesn't want a _burned_ jester's cap. Not at all – after all, what's a jester without a cap? Cicero nods at Festus, almost expecting the wondrous wizard to take up a blade. But Cicero knew he wouldn't. A Flame Atronach appeared, crackling and hovering next to Festus, glowing warmly. "Go," Festus commanded, and Cicero braced himself for a proper fight. Flame Atronachs _are_ difficult to kill, after all.

* * *

Aventus had spent most of the night asking all sorts of questions about the Dark Brotherhood, kills and strategies, signatures and trying to find tips on how to get better. At least he was trying to learn. By midnight I could tell he was worn out. I ordered him to sleep, and lay down in my own bed, on my back for a change. He was sleeping on the floor, since he hadn't bothered to ask for a room with two beds. After a few moments of blank peacefulness, I thought about the Sanctuary and Cicero. I found myself rubbing my chest. My heart ached for something, and every time I thought of Cicero, it would pang a little less for a few seconds before it remembered he wasn't here. I closed my eyes and sent a silent prayer to the Night Mother to keep Cicero safe, and to bless that Fool of Hearts.

* * *

I stretched out at a little before dawn, uncomfortable on my back. I felt exposed. I padded past a still-sleeping Aventus to wash up and prepare for the day ahead. Thieves and assassins never got along very well. I smirked at the thought, strapping my Dark Brotherhood armor into place, and threw my cloak over it. I headed back to my shared room, and toed Aventus. "Wake up. Things to do, places to go," I said, watching as he sighed and slowly rolled upright, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He frowned at me when he met my disapproving gaze and I finally stopped nudging him in the side. "You should be dead five times over," I explained.  
"But we're in an _inn_, for the love of Sithis!" he complained.  
"Doesn't mean you're safe. If you're not at home, you're a target for the Oculatus agents. And even so, they've managed to find many of our Sanctuaries. The others have been closed to keep the Families together, remember?" I shot back, tossing his armor at him. "Go… do what you do in the morning, and meet me in the common room for breakfast. And be quick, Aventus. I'm not sure how long we'll be down there." I turned on heel after strapping on my daggers to my thighs, my quiver and bow along with three frost poisons to my belt and covered it all with my cloak. I ordered food for both of us, and eventually settled for a tankard of ale when Aventus flew down the stairs, stopping for just long enough to let his own cloak cover him as he sat down opposite me. "What's the plan?"  
"I have no idea what's waiting for us down there, so we go in assuming it's crawling with things that want to kill us. Then we make our way to wherever the thieves are and find Delvin Mallory," I said, stirring my stiff, white porridge to soften it.  
"Then we talk to him about whatever Astrid gave you?" my brother asked softly.  
"Yes. Hopefully he can help."  
Aventus just nodded. I didn't want to explain about the amulet Amaund had given me, in case someone overheard and understood what was going on. There was simply too much at stake, for both me and Aventus, as well as the Brotherhood. We finished quickly, leaving a few coins on the table as we headed out, all of Riften covered in a deep crimson and orange glow. It was beautiful, really.

I led Aventus down the way the beggar had shown me, and at the door we stopped. He tried it both ways. "It's locked," he stated, as if he was entirely confounded by the idea.  
"So _pick_ the lock," I said.  
Aventus looked at me blankly. "I don't know how."  
I rolled my eyes, pulling out my picks and nimbly unlocking the door. "You'd better learn…" I said, stowing my picks and opening the door. I took my bow in hand, notching an arrow as I dropped a little, silently moving along the passage. Aventus followed behind me. "Close the door," I breathed, my voice echoing softly off the walls. A soft click confirmed my command, and Aventus slid his axe out of his belt. _An axe is a stupid weapon for an assassin,_ I thought, sneaking down the stairs. Voices met my ears. I touched my frost poisons. Babette had redesigned the bottles so that we assassins could easily dip arrowheads and dagger tips without wasting, and so that we didn't need to untie it from our belts. I loosed the lid, cringing at the soft 'pop'. I dipped two arrowheads in the poison, holding one in my bow hand as I stalked my prey. I drew my bow as a Bosmer woman came into view. Her eyes widened in surprise, and before she could utter a syllable my arrow caught her in the throat. She gurgled, and I could see the poison freeze her. I fired the second into her heart, and she fell. Her companion appeared a moment after her body fell. Aventus took the lead, running last me, a feral snarl on his face. He smashed the other elf's bow and half-notched arrow, and with a short cry slammed his axe into the elf's shoulder, then skull. I wrinkled my nose at the sound. I didn't like it: so unclean and barbaric. But, they were dead, and we weren't. In the meantime, I had replaced the poison's lid. The seal was broken, so it wasn't as properly closed as it should have been, but it would do. I pulled another two arrows, carrying them in hand. I nodded at Aventus when he crouched and looked at me. "Good work."  
He grinned at my compliment, and I took the lead again, following the passages and cutting our way through until finally we came to a section with a lever for the drawbridge. I pulled it, and it lowered with a satisfying thud. I grinned under my cowl, and silently ran across. We came to a room with a table, and a few odds and ends on it. A door with a haphazard carving of 'Ragged Flagon' was at the opposite end. I presumed this was the go-to for thieves. Aventus and I headed in after stowing our weapons. Let the negotiations begin.


	14. 14: Negotiations are for Assassins

**A/N:** Here it is! And Alysa is soon to make an appearance on my deviantArt account! Very exciting stuff, people! If you're interested, my original Dragonborn, a Bosmer called Nalledia (aka, my namesake) is up there (link on my profile page):) Righty then, on to this chapter! May the Night Mother wrap you in her cold, loving embrace, dear Brothers and Sisters. (PS: love Alysa's temperX3 You'll know it when you read it;))

**Chapter 14: Negotiations are Best Left to Assassins and Thieves. Especially Assassins**

"_Stand still, Keeper!_" the un-child hissed, grabbing poor Cicero by the ribs. Well, not his actual _ribs_, Cicero thinks that would hurt, but – well, Cicero thinks you understand, sweet Mother?  
"Oww…" Cicero whines. Cicero had been fighting with wondrous Festus's Atronachs and summoned creatures for the past month, and the Frost Atronach Cicero had just been fighting had frozen his left side, and left a bad burn… oh, sweet Mother it hurts! Cicero hadn't expected it to move so quickly… Cicero was just out of practice! Oh– "Babette!" he exclaimed, flinching when the un-child poked his side.  
"You have a few broken ribs. Festus, do you know any healing magic?"  
The old Breton blinked at Babette. "Not much, but enough. Sit, young pup. Old Festus will see what he can do while the little one makes a potion…"  
Cicero sighed, watching Babette whizz around her alchemy lab making a potion for Cicero. Such a fool: he _could_ have won! He could! "He he he, that tickles," Cicero giggles; the Restoration magic the wonderful wizard was using itched and tickled Cicero. Wonderfully horrid feeling, horridly wonderful! It lasted a few minutes, and Cicero couldn't help but wriggle now and again. It was itchy! Ticklish! "Hm, that's the best I can do. You'll still have to be careful, your ribs aren't healed properly, and the burn is just a little bit less," Festus said, standing and going Snap! Crack! Pop! in all his joints. Cicero thinks he doesn't _quite_ want to get _that_ old… and Cicero is now thirty-five…. Cicero breathed deeply, feeling what dear Festus meant. Not quite right yet, but better. "I only hope our Listener won't have a fit when she hears about this," Festus said, ending with a half-chuckle. Cicero grins a silly grin, his cheeks warming. The Listener doesn't _need_ to know…. He put his shirt back on, and his cap as well. What is the Fool of Hearts without his cap?  
"Hm, and _she_ insists nothing happened…" the un-child murmured, grinning. Cicero tried to glare, really he did. But he couldn't. So he just shook his head, wondering what exactly the un-child was talking about. Did something happen Cicero didn't know about? Cicero doesn't think so…. "Here, drink this. It'll help for now. I'll need a few more days to make a stronger one that will heal all the damage, so take it easy and wait."  
Cicero took the potion. "Thank you, sweet sister, dear brother."  
"Right then, I'll be off. Nazir gave me a contract in Haafingar yesterday already, so I should be off. Sithis and the Night Mother keep you, young pups," Festus grumbled, quickly walking away. Cicero thinks he's warming up a little. The un-child was still staring at dear Cicero. "Sweet sister –"

"Drink."

Cicero decided it was better not to argue with a vampire, even if she was so little. Cicero felt much better already. The un-child nodded, turning to her lab and started putting ingredients together. Cicero put the bottle on the table and stood slowly, still a bit sore. "Mother needs tending…" Cicero mutters, boringly walking back to his and Mother's chambers. Not that Cicero is _bored_ with _you_, Mother! Never! Cicero could _NEVER_ be bored with you! But Cicero finds walking so boring: not like running, or skipping or dancing… now _those_ are all much more interesting…. Yes, they are. Ooh, the stairs are the worst, sweet Night Mother… Cicero can _really_ feel he isn't right when he walks up them. Very uncomfortable. Cicero frowns. He wishes Alysa was home again already, and away from that horrid other Imperial… Cicero supposes he shouldn't hate his brother so much; after all, Cicero and Aventus _are_ brothers now, and of the same race, but still: Cicero doesn't like that Aventus _likes_ the Listener… but Cicero must take comfort in knowing his brother is younger than his honorable Listener, and that she isn't interested in him…. Cicero walks into his chambers, closing the door behind him. "Hmm… Cicero thinks Mother needs flowers…" Cicero looks for a vase – it must be a pretty one – but he doesn't see any that are worthy of Mother's presence. "Cicero will have to find a way to buy some," he says, wondering which one would be best for Mother. "But Cicero will _definitely_ bring Mother some nightshade… yes, Cicero will quickly pick some for you, my dear, Unholy Matron!"

* * *

Aventus and I finally made our way closer to the Ragged Flagon. I was grateful for the shadows in this den: the five or six people in the small, fire-lit area hadn't seen us yet. It was surprisingly clean, all things considered. Although, I'd never had to deal with thieves before so it was an interesting experience. I stopped Aventus when he started moving past me. "Let me do the talking; you listen and learn, and back me up if something goes wrong." He seemed a little upset, but nodded. "And keep your hood and cowl up," I added, stalking closer. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't know what Delvin looked like. I stopped before the circle of light began and listened, watching who spoke. A volley of insults came from a woman called Vex, and a few pathetic attempts at flirting from an older Breton. "Delvin, only with you in your _grave_ and me _standing over it!_" Vex shouted, storming off to a different part of the den. The Breton sighed, sitting down at a table half-hidden in shadow and called over a man to bring him a tankard of beer, then the man returned to the bar. I strode into the cordoned-off are, silently making my way to the table where Delvin sat. I planted myself across from him in the shadows, Aventus close behind me, a silhouette in the dark. Pity he wasn't as skilled as I am yet: the second he moved the world could still hear him. "Ah, now _you_ must be lost. Best ya scurry off while you're able. The Ratway… well, it has a habit of swallowin' up the _uninvited_," Delvin finished, chuckling. He hadn't even bothered to look at me.  
I leaned forwards just a little, my movement catching his eye, my cowl just visible in the half-light. "The Dark Brotherhood requires your services, Delvin."  
He blinked twice. "Oh. Oh I _see…_" he trailed, leaning forwards as well, a glint in his eyes. "Well now, how is Astrid doin' these days, uh? Tell her to stop by some time. We can have a drink. Catch up." He stopped when he caught my cold look. "Ah, but we can discuss that later, yeah? What does the Brotherhood need?"  
I unclasped the amulet, pulling it out of my armor and put it on the table. "What can you tell me about this?"  
"Let's see…." Delvin picked it up, holding it in the light. His eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. I frowned under my cowl. "Where-_oh-where_ did you get this? Don't answer – I don't want to know," he said when my brows drew closer together. "This is an amulet of the Emperor's Elder Council. Specially crafted for each member. Worth a small fortune. Ain't somethin' you'd give up lightly." He stared at it a while longer, admiring the many faceted gems in all colors on its surface. His voice was soft when he spoke next. "Look, it ain't my business ta tell the Dark Brotherhood _its_ business, but if you killed a member of the Elder Council, you'd better belie–"  
He was cut short when Aventus moved, hand on his axe, almost ready to whip it out. "You're right; it _is_ none of your business. Will you buy it?" I interrupted, my voice icy.  
Delvin narrowed his eyes, looking at the amulet again. "Buy it?" he repeated. "This? An _Elder Council_ amulet? Oh yes. Oh yes, indeed!" he chuckled darkly, placing it on the table as he made to stand. "Wait just one moment…."  
I watched the Breton head over to a cupboard and grab ink, a quill, parchment and wax with some kind of stamp. He returned and quickly wrote out the letter of credit Astrid had told me about, heating the wax over a flame while he wrote. He was about to fold the letter when I stopped him, taking the parchment and reading it. _Fifteen thousand septims… not bad._ I handed the letter back and nodded my go-ahead and he sealed it. "Here. It's a letter of credit as you've seen. Usable, by Astrid only, for any service or item I can provide. As per our standard arrangement. You bring that back to your lovely mistress. With my regards," Delvin finished, holding out the sealed letter to me.  
I dipped my head quickly. "A pleasure doing business with you." As I stood, I glanced at the seal. A shadowmark denoting the Thieves Guild adorned the dark grey wax. Aventus and I left the Ragged Flagon and the Ratway. It would probably be midday when we got out, so we would have a quick lunch before heading out. I still wanted to buy another horse for myself.

* * *

I spat blood outside the Riften stables, glaring icily at the owner. Even Aventus looked a little warier of me. _Good. I'm sick of his puppy love,_ I thought scathingly, snarling at the man moaning on the ground in front of me, the stableboy cowering behind a barrel. The horses were a little spooked: I could hear their restless movements. "Your horses are pathetically underfed and scraggly and you want _A THOUSAND GOLD FOR ONE?!_" I shouted, glaring down at him as he tried to stare at me. I snorted. "All of them together aren't even worth four hundred! And then you _insist_ on a brawl over your non-existent _honor?!_" I hissed, gesturing at the boy. "Saddle up the two best horses you have, or Sithis help you…." He nodded hurriedly, and scurried away to tack them up. I grudgingly called upon my meagre store of magicka, and used the basic healing spell I knew to heal the damage I had taken, remembering what Festus had told be about directing it to the places that needed it most. My gums hurt and itched as my teeth settled into them again, and I could feel the worst of the bruises become a little less swollen and colorful. I stepped closer, kneeling by the man when the boy returned. "But, because I am a generous and considerate person, I will not report your assault on my person to the guards." I stood, taking the reins of an intelligent-looking white and gentle-looking palomino, leading them to Aventus. I nodded at the horses. He quickly got onto the white, and I mounted the palomino. "Here's five hundred," I muttered angrily, tossing a coinpurse at the still-groaning stable owner trying to get to his knees, pushing my new steed to a canter. I grinned wryly, pulling up my cowl and hood: I had managed to get two for the price of half. I couldn't wait to get home.

* * *

Babette's potion had Cicero right and ready again very soon! Cicero actually feels much better than before that Frost Atronach took him, but Cicero can't really be sure. Festus had left little over a week ago, and Cicero was wondering when Alysa would be back: he hoped it was soon, very soon. But, Cicero had spent his days training, or looking after Mother – he had bought her special vases and all the different poisonous flowers and plants were all around her coffin, Cicero thought it looked proper, just as it should have been! – and sometimes Cicero went out to practice by himself in the woods. A major road was just above and behind the Sanctuary, and several times Cicero thought he heard – and saw, too – people and carts and horses and things travel along that way. But Cicero wasn't too sure – he couldn't go look, and after all, Cicero _is_ crazy… he he he. But Cicero enjoyed the time outside – he remembered what it was like to hunt, and stalk, and tease and taunt his prey… oh, how Cicero had enjoyed it. But he had given it all up for the Night Mother, and Cicero would do it again! He would! But sometimes Cicero wishes it was someone else who was Keeper, someone else who had to stay behind and hear the tales…. But Cicero is the Keeper, and he will keep until the next one is chosen. Cicero can only hope that the Family will grow, and soon. And that less and less brothers like Aventus will come. Or more, but ones not so interested in the mighty Listener. Cicero suddenly finds himself in the city of Falkreath, and Cicero decides to head to the inn for a quick break before he heads back to the Sanctuary. Maybe he can earn some more septims for the _other_ place while he's here….

* * *

It was very busy in the inn tonight, sweet Mother: Cicero marvels that fewer people end up killing each other. He giggles, and smiles when the crowd notices the Fool of Hearts from a few months ago. Or was it many months ago? Cicero forgets, or doesn't bother to remember. Cicero isn't very concerned with time. Except where dear, beloved, mighty Listener Alysa is concerned… then Cicero is aware of _every second._ Cicero did some performances for the good, ignorant people of Falkreath, and two hours or so before dusk, an Altmer mage and his Nordic companion came in. Horrid scars on _his_ face, and the woman was older – Cicero guesses she is at least ten years older than Cicero. Cicero wonders, are they lovers? It must be strange, sweet Mother, to see one stay young while the other grows old…. "Dragonborn!" someone called, and the Altmer turned.  
"Ahhhhh! _Now_ Cicero knows who he is! And he knows Cicero's dear L-one," Cicero nods, grinning. He watches the crowd turn and ooh-and-ahh and Cicero puts his full cap on, and pickpocketed the jarl's housecarl. _Oh, idiot to carry so much gold! Pity Cicero can't kill you now… such a pity…_ Cicero pouts, but moves into the crowd. He wants to go home now. The innkeeper even let Cicero have his mead for free! Oh, you have blessed humble Cicero, sweet Night Mother, Unholy Matron! Cicero slips out, and skips home. To the Sanctuary and the Night Mother!

* * *

Night had just fallen over Falkreath when Aventus and I arrived. We headed to Dead Man's Drink, and left out horses in the stable. I thought I recognized two horses: a white and flint pair. I was also quite sure I saw red hair flash behind the flint horse. I brushed the thought aside, tugging at my plain leather armor, and glancing at Aventus in his Stormcloak armor. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. We headed into the inn. It was packed to bursting. I shouldered and elbowed my way to the counter, Aventus in tow. "One room, two beds," I called over the noise at the innkeep. He checked his books, then shook his head. "Sold the last to another patron. I have a room with one bed, though," he offered.  
I nodded curtly. "I'll take it."  
"You'll take what?" Aventus shouted into my ear.  
I turned to frown at him, fishing out twenty septims. "Go fetch your bedroll. You're sleeping on the floor again." I paid, and followed a woman to our room on the roadside of the inn. Aventus dropped his bags next to mine, and disappeared to the stables again. I headed out to the common room to try and find us a table, but somehow ended up at the counter again. So I did the most sensible thing – I ordered food and drink while I was there. Aventus finally came back, and the few glimpses I caught of him at the door, he was looking a little like a wet cat. I sniggered to myself at the image, and presumed it was raining outside. I wound my way through the crowd to him, and someone bumped into my shoulder. I turned, sharply, stumbling and trying to righten myself as a hand belonging to that person caught me and held me up. The snarl froze on my face, and my insult died in my throat when I looked into the golden eyes of the Dragonborn. He looked as surprised as I felt. "Alysa," he greeted, turning to face me and letting me go.  
I dipped my head in greeting. "Tawarthion. It's… good to see you again," I managed, hating the crowd.  
The Altmer grinned, apparently at my forced attempt to shout at him. "I can hear you just fine if you speak a little louder than usual," he tapped his ears, "I have a spell which helps dim the noise, and I can hear better than the mortal races."  
I rolled my eyes, quickly scanning the crowd. Aventus was a short distance from us. "Lucky you," I returned, closing my eyes briefly when glass shattered on the stone floor somewhere, and a stream of shrieks and loud curses followed. Bar fights were always fun to watch, but even better to take part in, but only if you were a sober assassin. Ah, I remember when I won four hundred gold from such a fight… pity I had to pay the fine and damages afterwards. It left me with little more than fifty gold in the end.  
"Why don't you join me and Uthgerd?" Tawarthion asked, interrupting my reverie.  
"I have a companion with me," I said, nodding at Aventus as he appeared at my shoulder. "My half-brother. Hate to intrude," I finished, lying. Aventus looked pale suddenly. Somewhat in awe.  
Tar smiled. "It's no matter, really. Greetings, Son of Skyrim," Tar added, looking at Aventus.  
"Greetings," Aventus said stiffly, blinking. I was about to say something when he blurted out: "Are you _really_ the Dragonborn? Can you _really_ Shout?"  
I flicked my brother's ear. "That's rude," I chided. I was really enjoying playing the part of older sister. Not that Aventus would have had much of a choice, otherwise. He rubbed his ear, frowning at me.  
The Altmer only chuckled. "Join us, just for tonight, and I'll try to answer your questions."  
I sighed. Nodded. Tawarthion led us back to his table, and Uthgerd greeted us with a warm smile. I invented a cover story for both of us, which Aventus just nodded to. We were half-brother and –sister, and according to my tale, my father had re-married after my mother had died, and now I had collected my sibling from Riften. We were going to tour the wild around Falkreath before I sent him back to the Stormcloaks. I almost snorted at that part. _As if_, I thought, watching as the crowd slowly thinned as the night wore on. And I had renamed Aventus to 'Aerius'. I eventually directed the conversation towards the impending wedding in Solitude, and Tar admitted that he was going – he was the Dragonborn, and had to represent Ulfric Stormcloak at the same time so it left him with no choice _but_ to go. Aventus quickly monopolised the conversation again, and after he had finally finished interrogating the poor Altmer, Uthgerd said something that made me backtrack her words. "Wait – did you say, a _jester_ was here earlier?"  
Uthgerd nodded over her ale. "A _jester_, of all things. Strange fellow, though," she trailed, sipping her drink.  
"Mm, I remember him – he spoke in third person the whole time. But was he gifted! I've never seen anything quite like it before," Tar laughed, shaking his head.  
I could barely stop the smile spreading over my face, so I drowned it in swig from my tankard of water. "What was his name, if you got it?" Aventus asked before I could. I think he was catching on to who this was.  
"I believe he called himself the 'Fool of Hearts' and also 'Cicero' at one point," the elf said. We were slowly but surely speaking softer – the majority of the town had returned home for the night. Aventus gave me a strange look when I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs out in front of me. "When did he leave?" I asked.  
"Perhaps an hour or more before nightfall…" Uthgerd said, watching me. I nodded, finding the patterns in the wooden tabletop fascinating. Hooves came hard and fast from outside, with a few huffs and snorts from the horses, and a few men calling to them and each other. I turned to the slightly frosted windows, and stiffened, sitting straighter. "Aerius, go see to the horses."  
"What? Why –"  
"Do it. _Now_," I hissed at him. He stared back. A Penitus Oculatus agent walked in. Aventus's eyes flicked towards him, and recognition bloomed in them. I leaned closer to him, whispering in his ear. "I need to know how many there are. Go outside, and see to the horses. Be careful, Brother," I added a little louder, pulling away. Aventus set his jaw, but nodded, heading out anyway. I shifted in my seat, tuning in to every movement, every word the agent made and said. I looked at the Dragonborn who was staring at me knowingly. "Those agents and my… _family_, aren't particularly friendly with each other, as I'm sure you remember from last time," I said softly. I doubted Uthgerd could hear me, but the slight dip in the Altmer's head told me _he_ had.  
Aventus came back a while later, followed by several more agents. "At least twelve," he breathed as he brushed past me, sitting. _Damn,_ I thought. "And it sounds like they'll be here for at least another week, too. I overheard two speaking in the stables," he looked over at Tar and Uthgerd, and then the agents. I followed his gaze darkly. We couldn't go around and approach the Sanctuary from the west – a road ran above us, and if there were more agents camped there…. "We can keep them busy for a while. Where are you two headed?" Tar asked, his voice low when he leaned forwards. "West and north from here," I said. If he could even buy us a single day, I'd be grateful for it. "I'd take this favor from you instead of the horse, if it's all the same to you."  
Tar sighed: he looked torn between agreeing and paying for my two-fifty horse anyway. But he nodded. "Fine. I'll send them north-east of Falkreath. Go, retire for the evening," he commanded, leaning back.

Uthgerd the Unbroken just watched me frown, the suspicious part of me coming out for a moment. But I agreed, despite hating being commanded, and pulled Aventus along behind me. "Good night," we greeted in unison, and my brother and I ignored the uninterested gazes of the Penitus Oculatus agents as we headed to our room, closed the door and locked it, drawing the curtains shut. I unsheathed my daggers, holding one in each hand under my pillow, and Aventus laid his axe down on the floor next to him, his hand resting on the glass hilt.


	15. 15: Oh Oh

**A/N:** I'll be honest, this chapter turned out a wee bit strange for me:/ Not too sure if I like it, but I don't think I want to change it, either. Let me know what you think, especially about halfway through the chapter (that's the part that bothers me, really). So, some fluff, some more serious stuff, too. Anyway, I forgot to ask in the previous chapter, but fellow South African who is reading this – don't you wanna leave a review, and let me know who you are? I'd love to hear from you! Really, I would. I think I have an inkling that I know who you are, but I could very well be wrong. Anyway, here's the next one; enjoy! Oh, and today (24/05/13) was dress-up day at school, and guess which Listener I decided to go as…;p Pics to eventually make their way to dA! May the Night Mother wrap you in her cold, loving embrace.

**Chapter 15: Oh. **_**Oh…**_**.**

It took us two days to get back to the Sanctuary. _Two days_. I had always hated those Oculatus agents, but now I was beginning to think that I should kill each one that _dared_ show his face in my presence. Maybe I'd tag them as my kills with a bloody handprint…. I grinned at the thought: I would do that when I headed out on the collection of contracts Amaund had given me. Sithis help my brothers and sisters if they _dared_ take these contracts from me. I sighed happily once I entered the cool confines of the Sanctuary, our horses hidden in the spot I had left my first horse, after we hastily changed back into the Brotherhood's armor. I had my hood up when we padded down to the common room, listening to a commotion. Someone was fight-training something that had been summoned. I couldn't tell who it was from here, at least not over Aventus's excited chatter. He led the way down the last flight of stairs, and as I lifted my eyes to see who was fighting, my eyes widened, my jaw slacked and my breath caught in my throat. "Oh…" I breathed.

Cicero faced a summoned Spriggan, his cap gone and his shirt was nowhere to be seen. His body gleaming with sweat in the torchlight from the exertion, dodging the Spriggan and her summoned bear. My heart raced, my breath catching in my throat. I was probably breathing faster, but I didn't know. "Oh," I breathed again, vaguely aware of Aventus at my side. Cicero turned to look at us. Concentration melted into confusion, and he straightened, ignoring the forest guardian. She was coming from behind. My instincts took over, and suddenly she shrieked, a daedric dagger in her forehead as she and her bear faded away, my blade clattering to the floor. I blinked a few times, my gaze falling on Cicero who now faced me squarely. _He's… beautiful,_ I registered, taking in his form. He wasn't as well-built as someone younger would be, and undoubtedly had lost some of his form and muscle in the seventeen years he had looked after the Night Mother, but he was still fairly toned and defined, with slightly narrower hips than shoulders. He was panting, and cocked his head to one side as he gave me an inquisitive stare. I managed to pull in a ragged breath. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. Cicero looked behind him, then back at me. Aventus came into my peripheral vision. I heard someone mumble something next to me. My heart thundered in my ears as I drank in Cicero's appearance. "Alysa?" Festus appeared behind Cicero.  
"Cicero wonders if the most honorable Listener is alright…?" Cicero asked, sheathing his ebony dagger and slowly stepping closer. I suddenly came to my senses. I sucked in a deep breath, turning away and wrenched my cowl over my face in an attempt to conceal the deep, warm blush I could feel spread over my face. _Oh, Night Mother help me…._ I closed my eyes, and was vaguely aware of Aventus scurrying away, much like young wolf pup would give way to an alpha. "Listener?" a soft voice asked, fingertips touching my shoulder lightly. I focused on my breathing, and stilled my heart enough to be able to think a little more clearly. I drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Alysa, are you alright? Cicero wor-_wonders_," Cicero asked even softer. I slowly turned and relaxed a little to see Cicero had his shirt on again, not quite buttoned, but on. He was less distracting now. He held out my dagger, his fingers gone from my shoulder. I took my blade and sheathed it, then searched his face. His steel-grey eyes were softened with concern. I tried to smile tentatively under my cowl, and Cicero smiled back, the madness fading from his eyes for a few moments as he carefully reached for my face, pulling my cowl down, his fingertips just brushing my face in places. I grinned broadly all of a sudden. "I missed you, too, Cicero."  
He beamed, that madness I had come to know brightening in his face. "Oh! Sweet Alysa! Dear Listener! Cicero has missed you very much, indeed!"  
He looked about ready to pull me to him in a tight embrace, but stopped himself short. I was almost disappointed. I reached out to him, touching his chest before moving my hand to his side, stepping closer, unsure of myself. But the Keeper needed no further encouragement. I was swept into his arms and off my feet, spinning round and round as Cicero skipped and danced, singing joyfully about something only Sithis and the Night Mother would understand. I started laughing, eventually joining the fool in his wild dance across the common room, instead of just being swept along. "The Listener has returned! The Listener has returned!" he shrieked, pulling me into our strange dance.

Oh, it was good to be home. _Is_ good to be home.

* * *

She had missed _him!_ She had _missed_ Cicero! Sweet Listener Alysa had missed humble _Cicero!_ Oh, sweet Night Mother, it makes Cicero's heart sing! And dancing with Alysa, hearing her laugh! Seeing her smile! Oh, Cicero must SING! And when Cicero saw Aventus's face… oh, to see him so dejected, rejected! Ha ha ha! It makes Cicero gleeful. But Cicero wonders why Alysa had stared, what had _made_ her stare. Surely it hadn't been Cicero… but if it _had been_ Cicero… well, that would make Cicero fly! Of course, not _really_ fly, but that's the idea! Cicero grins. Oh, it would be wonderful if it were true…. Cicero slowly stops spinning, looking at the pretty little Nord Listener.  
"Cicero…" the sweet Listener started.  
"Yes, dear Listener?"  
"I'd like to go see the Night Mother. Escort me to her coffin," she commanded, her pretty blue eyes so irresistible to dear, humble Cicero.  
"Of course, Listener!" Cicero stepped back, letting go and holding his arm for dear, sweet Alysa…. She grinned, turning and looping her arm through Cicero's. We walked to the Night Mother, and Cicero was doing his best not to grin too stupidly to have his dear Listener so close.

* * *

I've never had a feeling like this before – I felt light, free. Cicero was close, and I was beginning to understand what Babette had told me so long ago. We headed to the coffin, and the fool carefully unhooked my arm, waiting close to the door of his and the Night Mother's chambers. I spotted a vase of freshly-picked Nightshade, and took five of the blossoms as a bouquet for her. I presumed Cicero had gone flower-hunting, and I could feel his eyes on me as I neared her coffin. I knelt, briefly dipping my head. "All is going well, Unholy Matron, and the contract is coming together, piece by piece," I murmured, looking at the flowers, and placing them at the foot of her coffin. "Is there anything else you require of me?"  
A cold whisper of a touch fluttered by my cheek, and I shivered before an ever-more familiar cold and calculating calm filled me. _No, my Listener…. May the Dread Father keep you and yours…_ her voice faded from my mind. I looked up at her withered corpse, and got the distinct impression she was pleased with something, though I wasn't sure what. It seemed greater than just something I had done. I felt a cool but genuine smile spread across my face, and stood, respectfully backing away before I turned to face Cicero. He cocked his head to one side, a coy grin on his face. It was probably afternoon now. "How about lunch?" I asked, grinning.

* * *

I awoke that night to faint sounds of howling and shrieking. The other members were still asleep, from the quick glance I passed around, and I slid out of my bed, taking a dagger in hand. I had learnt to be a light sleeper, and it was something that I both cursed and blessed. I followed the noise past Babette's chambers. A brief glance inside told me she wasn't there. They seemed to be coming from the Keeper's chambers, though. I padded closer, the stone cold under my bare feet. I frowned in concern: it was definitely coming from there. I tried the door, and it opened on silent hinges. What I saw inside stopped my black little heart cold.

Cicero was ranting and raving, slashing and attacking at invisible enemies while he shrieked incoherently about his Family, the Night Mother, the Sanctuar_ies_. _He's been to more than this one and the one he was originally in?_ I wondered, stepping further in and closing the door. I hadn't – still didn't – know what had happened to him, but he was clearly reliving it. I drew in a deep breath when he suddenly crumpled to the floor, hands over his ears, rocking and mumbling something. He still hadn't noticed me. I put my dagger on a table, and cautiously stepped closer. "Cicero?" I asked softly.  
He didn't move, and as I got closer I dropped to my haunches, still edging closer. "Cicero?" I touched his shoulder gingerly. He flinched, looking at me. I felt a pang when I realized he didn't recognize me. "They're… I can't… all dead… I can't save them! It's not safe anymore!" he breathed frantically. I barely registered he was using first person. "I was gone… they were dead… everyone…" he despaired. "Cicero didn't know! Cicero couldn't help! And he can't find the Listener! What if he _never_ finds the Listener?!" he wailed, breathing heavily, his grey eyes wide with fear.  
"Shh… hey, it's alright, you're ok now, you're somewhere safe," I said, laying my palm on his shoulder. "You'll find her, Cicero. You'll find the Listener, I swear to you," I said. He pulled me into an embrace. I stiffened on instinct, but quickly folded my arms around him.  
We sat on the floor for a long time before I realized his shoulders had stopped shaking. "Come on," I said softly, gently pushing him up. "It's still night. You should rest, Cicero."  
He looked at me and nodded. We slowly stood, and Cicero made his way to his bed. I perched on the edge, a little uncomfortable at being so close in a situation like this. I stayed until his breathing deepened, but the second I made to stand Cicero's arm shot out and his hand clamped around my forearm. "Stay, please; don't leave Cicero alone."  
I hesitated: I might have started feeling more comfortable around him, but I still wasn't totally sure about it. But nodded anyway. "Just let me get a chair and blankets," I said, prying his fingers off my arm, and pulled a chair closer to the head of his bed, my back to the wall and after draping an extra blanket over myself, settled into it. Cicero's wide eyes never left me until I curled up in the chair, and suddenly he was asleep. My eyes drooped not long after, and my dreams were filled with questions and scenarios about Cicero's past, and how young he had been when it all happened to him.

* * *

I woke up from the pain in my neck. I was still curled uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair, my right foot asleep and prickling. I was also a lot warmer: almost stiflingly so. I pried my eyes open to see an animal skin of sorts haphazardly tucked around me, and Cicero wasn't in my immediate line of sight. I breathed deeply still, not moving as I scanned the area. The scratching of a quill on parchment started up furiously, and I realized I had been hearing it in my sleep for some time. Cicero was writing something in one of his journals. I shifted and stretched, and Cicero glanced sheepishly at me before finishing what he wrote, sprinkling sand over the ink to dry it faster before closing the book.

* * *

"Cicero is sorry about last night. Cicero… knows that _it_ happens, but Cicero wishes it wouldn't," he finishes, shuffling his feet under the table, not quite looking at the honorable Listener. She found Cicero at his worst, remembering all the horrid, horrid things that happened… Cicero just wishes they'd all go away, sweet Mother… all of the horrid, terrible memories. Cicero looked up when the mighty, honorable Listener sat down on a chair next to Cicero. She nodded. "But it's not your fault. None of what happened was – _is _– your fault. Remember that," she said, and looked sheepish. Cicero wondered why, but supposed she wasn't used to people. Not even the other members knew much about her. Cicero _wants_ to know _everything_ about her…. "Cicero… Cicero thinks he wants to tell you, sometime…" Cicero trails, wondering what sweet Alysa will say. She tried to smile. "Take your time, Cicero. I'm not heading out for at least another two months: I'm going to take the Emperor contracts, and the wedding contract isn't due until at least three or four months: Tar was invited since he's the Dragonborn, and is also going to represent Ulfric. The Altmer has some inside information on the happenings, and apparently the bride is having trouble on deciding how she wants what," Alysa half-grinned at humble Cicero. Cicero grinned back.  
A strange gurgling noise filled the room, and Alysa quickly grabbed her stomach, going white and grinning guiltily. Cicero giggled, then laughed harder when the dear Listener joined in, and finally, eventually, sweet Mother, Cicero gathered his senses enough to speak. "Sweet roll, dear sister?"  
Alysa stopped for a second, glancing at the bread. Then she started laughing again. Such a beautiful sound, such a perfect one…. Cicero can't help but laugh as well. "I'd love one, my brother," she said, taking the bread, and started pulling it apart.  
"Cicero prefers a carrot, this morning," he says, crunching his orange carrot. Alysa looked at Cicero, and Cicero at Alysa, and Cicero knew he could trust her. It wasn't as serious as before now anymore, but Cicero knew she would listen to him, and he to her. The Listener and the Keeper. Maybe never on the hunt together, but the Listener and the Keeper, forever and always.

* * *

Despite the heavy start to the morning, I left Cicero feeling a little lighter, and I was sure he felt it, too. We had a deeper kind of understanding now – or at least I thought we did – and I was ready to open up to him, to share my story as he wanted to share his, and strangely pleased that I could be there for him. I realized I _wanted_ to be there for him, too. The thought… _warmed_ me in ways I had learnt not be warmed anymore – I had learnt to become cold, and cruel – my life before the Brotherhood had seen to that early on. I licked my fingers again, and even though the honey was long-gone they were still sticky. I had quickly snatched my dagger on the way to the washroom, and stowed it in my chest along with the other. I'd talk to Astrid today and hear what she had to say about it all – the wedding, and hear what she had managed to gather from our many spies across the country. It was surprising how easy it was to buy over a few beggars here, a guard there and a thief or three elsewhere. I bathed quickly, slipping into the Brotherhood's red and black robes. I stopped by my chest briefly to take the letter of credit, making sure it still looked fairly neat before I took it to Astrid. Nazir and Gabrielle were talking excitedly about something, Festus grumbled about how incompetent the youth had become – I presumed he was talking about something that Aventus _hadn't_ done – and by the time I reached the lower floor, my little brother was trying to defend himself over breakfast but Festus had him caught in a word-web. I sniggered when the young Imperial struggled to say the right things, and eventually gave up, blushing furiously. "A bright and bloody morning to you," I greeted.  
Nazir was the first to look me over suspiciously. "Someone call Babette. Alysa's ill," he said tonelessly, a perfectly blank expression on his face. I scowled at him, only for him to laugh heartily, joined shortly by the others. I rolled my eyes and smiled, then faced Aventus. "I'll meet you in the training area. Warm up so long: I need to speak with Astrid," I said, striding past and bounced up the stairs two at a time. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I heard Nazir tell Aventus to close his mouth. To the Void with his puppy love: I wasn't interested, and if he didn't quite understand yet, he certainly would.


	16. 16: Let the Planning Begin!

**A/N:** Woo-hoo! Three chapters in one day! I feel awesome about it!XD Haha, obviously not all are for this one – two are for _The Tale of Arya, Champion of Cyrodiil_. I'd come up with a better title for it, but damn: I just can't think of anything and it's kinda grown on me so that's how it'll stayX3 So anyway, back to _For the Jester's Heart_, I've taken a few creative liberties with Cicero's past – bite me if you don't like it – and I think it turned out pretty ok. They came to me when I was writing extra exams for university acceptance, and I spent all three hours grinning like an idiot because of itX3 Oh well, it was awesome, and I have no regrets!:D So, without further ado, I present Chapter 16. Enjoy, and Sithis keep you in the Void.  
PS: I've scrapped the current drawing of Alysa – she just looks a little funny to me. Also, I'll be heading to London from the 14th to the 24th of June 2013 – no updates during that time, although I should have drawings and chapters ready for uploading by then. That's all: enjoy!:D

**Chapter 16: Let the Planning Begin!**

"Good, you're back again. Well, what did Mallory have to say? Is the amulet authentic?" Astrid asked eagerly, her eyes shining as she almost jumped up and down in excitement. For the first time since Cicero arrived, I found myself agreeing with her emotions. I really wanted this as well – maybe even more. "Delvin said the amulet is authentic, and is uniquely made for each Elder Council member," I replied, a grin spreading over my face and a light, giddy feeling rising in my stomach. I couldn't wait to get started on these contracts….  
Astrid's eyes widened and she gaped for a few seconds. "The _Elder Council_… Oh, now _that_ explains quite a bit! Motierre, you naughty, naughty boy! Hiring the Dark Brotherhood to help you rise beyond your station…. _Delicious_," she giggled darkly.  
I smirked in reply. It really was quite something. I held out the letter of credit. "Delvin agreed to buy the amulet," I said before she could ask. She opened the seal, her eyes gleaming at the amount she saw inside. She folded it shut, a certain light in her eyes. I met her gaze evenly. "Splendid! Then we're ready to begin. Or, more specifically, _you're_ ready to begin. After all, you're the one the Night Mother spoke to. Now then; I hope you have something nice to wear. Because you'll be going to a wedding."  
I raised my brows. "The first contract. It's only due in several months."  
Astrid nodded excitedly. "Yes. I'll send notice to our spies in the Thieves Guild, and our contacts in the cities to gather as much information about the wedding as we can. You seem to know something about it…" she trailed.  
I nodded. "I spoke to someone who is close to the top Stormcloaks, and he mentioned the wedding would probably only be set in three to four months at the fastest. Vici seems to have trouble on deciding about anything."  
Astrid nodded thoughtfully. "Very good. Well, you won't actually be attending the _wedding_, but the public reception. It'll last three days, and should be a _lovely_ affair," she purred, smiling darkly. "You'll mingle with the guests, eat some cake… stab the bride. Oh yes," she in response to my half-grin. "You've got to kill Vittoria Vici. At her wedding. And they say romance is dead…." I nodded, listening as Astrid continued. "I'll let you know as soon as we find out more about the happenings, Alysa. How is Aventus doing?" she asked before I could leave.  
"Well. I'm meeting him in the training area now, in fact."  
Astrid nodded. "It's good to know. You know, you'd make a lovely couple, even though he _is_ younger."  
I narrowed my eyes at her, feeling my blood turn to ice. I clenched my jaw and left. Aventus… _no_. I couldn't even begin to imagine it. He was a child to me still – no older than eleven when we had first met, and I had been nineteen, hardened by three years of life on the streets of Windhelm. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at Astrid's suggestion, striding to the training area. Arnbjorn was working the forge, Veezara was meditating, and Aventus was warming up, shirtless. I stopped to look at him. He was – I supposed – pleasing, but still…. I almost grinned when I thought of Cicero training yesterday. _That_, I wouldn't mind seeing again. Gabrielle appeared from deeper in the Sanctuary, a strange smile on her face as she openly admired our younger brother, while he moved through different stances completely oblivious to her. I sighed, and padded closer. I could tell he was already warm, and excited to train. I would be happy to oblige, especially if I could give him a proper beating to boot. "_BROTHER!_" Cicero shouted, sing-song as he skipped to us. "Cicero would be _honored_ to help train his younger brother! Honored _indeed_! If the great and mighty Listener would permit humble Cicero, that is."  
I smirked at the ground to stop the stupid grin over my face. "Personally, _I_ would never say no to a more experienced brother…" I trailed, lifting my gaze to my younger brother's. Aventus seemed to pout a little, while a certain gleam came into Cicero's eyes. I wondered what exactly he had planned for the poor child. Either way, the younger Imperial had a lot to learn from the both of us. And it wasn't going to come easily.

* * *

Sneaking, and lockpicking, and stalking, and pretending to pickpocket – that's what humble Cicero and the might Listener started teaching their little brother – he he he, Cicero enjoyed teaching him, because it gave Cicero a chance to use skills he had almost forgotten. Almost, but not quite. Cicero remembered them again quickly, and had so much fun teaching his younger brother to sneak… oh, Cicero was cruel, Cicero knows, but really, when the Fool of Hearts is given a chance… "_Oh, if I see that fair maid Nelly, I'll plunge my knife into her belly!_" Cicero sang, twirling and skipping to the dining hall with a beaten Aventus behind, and a bemused-amused Alysa next to sweet Cicero. Oh! 'Twas bliss, sweet Mother! She – the honorable Listener, of course – shot Cicero a grin at his rhyme. Cicero had _also_ trained with his Listener – she was getting better, but was still fighting a little too clean – not the kind of fighting humble Cicero had gotten used to, really. Cicero went quiet when he remembered _that_ night, and how his Listener had been there for him. It was all those long years ago on that night that Cicero had learned to survive – not just sneak and stab-stab-stab and escape, or leave a flourish, or a signature of his work… and sometimes training for proper combat. Since the start of it all, the Black Hand had made it important for all the members to be able to fight – really fight, like the Legion or the Stormcloaks, and not just like assassins in the dark. Not that there weren't those who knew it already, it just wasn't all that practiced. And not that it helped most, but it had helped Cicero, and now Cicero was still alive, in the last Sanctuary in Tamriel. Well, except for the_ other_ one, but Cicero wouldn't mention it now. Not yet, and perhaps only later to the Listener. "Ooh! Cicero thinks that smells wonderful! Delicious! _MAGICAL!_" he cackled – it was _definitely_ Festus working on lunch. Cicero had learned to _smell_ the difference!  
Aventus half-laughed. "How do you know Ch-Cic-Keeper?" he stumbled over his words.  
Cicero flashed the boy a dark grin. It was fun to make him nervous, really. Lots and lots of fun! Tee-hee-hee. "Cicero just _knows_," he grins, grabbing dear, sweet Alysa's wrist and pulled her along to the hall.  
She chuckled, impressed. "Well, I suppose you were right," she smirked, and Cicero beamed! So happy to see _her_ happy – Mother chose well, as Mother always does! Cicero is glad to have one like Alysa for a Listener. So strong, so mighty, so pretty… especially pretty and clever, sweet Night Mother. Festus looked up from his work at the wondrous, magical and amazing food. Cicero really _did_ prefer his cooking to Nazir's, but then, the Redguard wasn't _so_ bad, either. Just different. "Hmf, you're getting too good at recognizing the differences, Keeper," he growled, but Cicero had a feeling he was a great big wonderful ball of something soft underneath – Cicero was _very_ sure of that, but he supposed the wizard enjoyed being grumpy and rude and intelligent all the time – for Cicero, if _he_ had to be like that, humble Cicero would go crazy… he he he, yes, absolute _madness!_ Cicero saw Nazir snort, ignoring some sarcastic comment which his dear Listener scoffed at happily and Aventus laughed at. The Dunmer woman and the green-lizard-man had left apparently, or weren't here yet, or were somewhere else because Cicero hadn't seen them yet. Or, maybe he saw the fortune-teller this morning while training with Aventus… but Cicero isn't really very concerned with her. Strange womer, that one. Very strange…. Cicero poured mead and ale for his Family – he was feeling happy and generous, after all, otherwise he would have done it just for himself and dear Alysa – and squealed happily when his beloved Listener came with a large plate of food for Cicero, and a slightly smaller one for herself. Cicero grinned gleefully when Aventus had to go for himself – he wasn't _nearly_ as lucky as sweet Cicero was! No, dear Night Mother, he never would be…. It was a hearty meal, and Cicero was thoroughly, through-and-through happy and glad and ecstatic and thrilled! Cicero enjoyed himself a lot, especially when the assassinations and planning for the Emperor's assassinations came up when Astrid and Arnbjorn and Gabrielle-the-Dunmer came in. Oh, oh! It would be wonderful! Spectacular! Cicero wishes he could have joined his Listener on her contracts – it would have been so much fun! The Listener and the Keeper! On the hunt! But Cicero would settle for his honorable Listener's stories, and would always, _always_ stay behind to look after you, Cicero's dear Unholy Matron. Always.

* * *

It always occurred to me after a meal, that a bunch of assassins together were incredibly loud. Pleasantly so, but loud all the same. Talk over lunch had quickly turned to that of my string of assassinations-to-be, and the planning each member was putting in. Veezara had apparently left a day or two ago to pan out Solitude – even before the assassination was to be planned, it had been established that a grand wedding would take place there. We'd know more once our Shadowscale came back. Nazir and Festus had their usual banter about who was the better chef, and only when Astrid and Arnbjorn had come in – the werewolf grumbling something about not having enough raw meat – did the rival chefs slow down enough to add to the conversation. I was pleased to see Aventus listened first, asking questions that were growing in usefulness each time. Still not quite as they should be, but between my training with him on the way to Riften and back, and Cicero's rather relentless training that morning, and an apparent aptitude for assassinations, he was learning fairly quickly. I smirked into my mug when I thought of how the morning had gone. It would undoubtedly be my turn again a little while after lunch, and I found myself excited by the idea that I could train with Cicero again. He was a challenge, and although I knew I was a sour loser and he would surely beat me many more times, I welcomed it. Probably a little more than I should have.

After lunch had become more of an easy conversation around the table, I excused myself to see to the horses. I was actually feeling a little cramped inside the Sanctuary, and some time outside was just what I needed. The horses were munching quietly outside, sneezing now and again as the seeds of some plant irritated them. My steed whickered softly at my appearance, and I felt a softened half-smile, half-smirk spread over my face. I grabbed a handful of grass, and touched the palomino's shoulder before I started sweeping the grass over its coat in attempt to brush the dirt off. _I'll need to buy brushes when I head into town again,_ I made a mental note, and listened to their breathing and the quiet forest sounds. The horses sensed a presence before I did, and I turned to search where they were looking, only to see Cicero walking closer, hands in his pockets and throwing his legs out, striding as if his legs were made of wooden poles. The horses lost interest quickly, while I kept watching, amused. Cicero beamed at me from the other side of the horse. "Cicero thought he'd find you here, when the Listener said to excuse her," he grinned, very proud of himself.  
I couldn't help but grin back, and quickly glanced down at the horse's withers. I wondered if he could see a change in me whenever he was near. As much as I hoped so, I almost dreaded it at the same time. It was the strangest feeling for me.

* * *

Cicero hasn't expected the Listener to go outside – Cicero thought she was coming back when she excused herself. But when she didn't return, Cicero remembered she said over lunch that she had gotten two new horses. _Two!_ Cicero was so proud of his mighty Listener's clever plans! So _very_ well chosen! Very well indeed, sweet Mother…. Cicero cut a handful of grass and brushed the other side of his Listener's horse. It was quiet, and Cicero was content. Just the Listener and the Keeper – well, the horses and the birds and the worms and the insects and the plants too – but just the Listener and the Keeper. "So, what made you become an assassin, Keeper?" the Listener asked. Cicero stopped brushing to look at his Listener, just able to put her chin on the horse's back. If she wanted to, that is. "You don't have to tell me; I was just wondering," she added quickly, brushing intently. Cicero wonders at how interesting brushing a horse can be.  
Cicero continues brushing. "Well, Cicero was never _meant_ to be an assassin. Cicero was _supposed_ to join the Legion, like Cicero's father, and _his_ father's father, and his father's _father's_ father… and so on. Many generations from Cicero's family went to the Legion," Cicero frowned. "Cicero never wanted to join. Cicero wanted to be a bard! Or a mage, but a bard first. But! Cicero forgets: he was the youngest son, and had a sister and two brothers. Both in the Legion – his brothers, that is – and Cicero's then-father was very proud. He taught Cicero how to use the dagger – Cicero had always, _always_ loved daggers." Cicero giggles, looking up to see his Listener listening attentively. At-_tent_-ive-_lyyyy_… strange word. Cicero flashes a grin, resting his hand on the wheat-colored horse. "Cicero thought he'd get a better chance at being a mage, so Cicero asked to be trained by the Legion mages. Cicero was a fool! _But,_ not yet the Fool of Hearts! Cicero couldn't learn as much as he should have fast enough, and Cicero was trying _so_ hard. Cicero would have tried anything just so that he wasn't just another worthless soldier…. So Cicero made the mistake of mentioning he might like to go to the Bard's College in Solitude – Cicero had always been clever with rhymes. But, Cicero never really used it, so it got rusty and dusty and GONE!" Cicero grinned at Alysa.  
"A bard? That explains all of your songs," she nodded, an assassinly-lazy-clever half-grin. "I can imagine you being a bard."  
"So could Cicero. But, as Cicero says, he made the mistake of mentioning it to his then-father… anyway, Cicero left that night with a small pack and his dagger. But Cicero was a young, stupid, foolish boy of fourteen: he didn't know gold didn't just _APPEAR__!_" Cicero waved his hands and made a 'poof' sound. "He made it to Anvil from the Imperial City, and did some here-and-there work on the docks. But Cicero soon had to leave, because a man remembered Cicero's father, and then Cicero, and called Cicero 'Chickpea'. Cicero always hated that nickname…. So, Cicero…" he trailed off, grinning at Alysa. She grinned back, darkly and lovely-ly as she realized what Cicero said-without-saying. "Cicero quite liked the feeling of slashing and cutting and stabbing, and poisoning and skinning… so then he made his way to Chorrol, so no-one would find him and because he needed to go: too many were finding what Cicero left _be-hiii-iiiiinnd_," Cicero sang, giggling with his dear Listener. "It was there – in Chorrol – where Cicero _really_ started killing, and a then-Speaker found Cicero. He was a Dunmer, and taught Cicero all about sneaking and stalking and lockpicking and assassin-fighting. He kept us off the road for a month – or was it three? Cicero doesn't remember – before he took Cicero to the Bruma Sanctuary." Cicero stopped, frowning to himself as he remembered his Family there. So kind, so accepting…. Cicero had immediately been at home. "At least they found you quickly," the dear Listener said quietly, and Cicero looked up. He was about to ask what the mighty Listener meant when the horses jumped and snorted. "I apologize; I hadn't realized people and horses were here," a hunter – _huntress_ – appeared, dropping down from an outcrop. "Could you tell me which Hold I'm in?" she asked.  
"Falkreath. The city's half-an-hour or so that way," Alysa pointed. "Perhaps we can accompany you; we need supplies, anyway."  
His Listener had a plan to protect the Sanctuary? Or was she going to kill the huntress? Cicero wondered: the huntress was very close to the Door. "I'd appreciate that," the huntress smiled.  
The Listener gestured for the huntress to come past, and nodded at Cicero. He grinned broadly. You see, sweet Mother, the huntress was too close to the Black Door…. Too close. "Tee-hee-hee," Cicero couldn't help but giggle. The huntress glanced back at Cicero, concerned. Then she froze. "Is that… a… _Black Door_? For the Dark Brotherhood?" she asked, staring at the Door.  
Alysa came up behind her. "Yes. So?"  
"We need to tell the Penitus Oculatus! They must erase these disgusting, bastardly cutthroats!"  
"Someday, maybe. But not today." Oh, the Listener was so cool! Composed! Cicero loved the dark smile that played her lips when she looked at the huntress who kept complaining. Alysa crossed her arms as the huntress grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking the Listener! How dare she?! Cicero snarled, whipping out his dagger. The Listener moved, turning the huntress to face Cicero. "Sithis take you to the Void, Huntress," the Listener smirked, and Cicero saw the huntress's fear. "_Oh, if I see that fair maid Nelly, I'll plunge my knife into HER BELLY!_" Cicero sang, giggling as he stab-stab-stab, slash-slash-slashed the huntress. Cicero and the Listener Alysa were both covered in blood. Lots of red, warm, metallic-tasting blood! Especially Cicero. He he he. Cicero wiped his blade on the grass, hoist-hoist-hoisting the huntress into his shoulders and with the honorable Listener's help hid her body. Cicero looked up at her once we were done. She was so pretty, even covered in all the blood. Maybe even more so than before… all the little splatters and drops around her face and mouth…. She licked her lips, tasting some of the blood as she did. Cicero wondered what she would do if he kissed her… Cicero supposed he shouldn't yet. He swallowed hard. "Shall we go back and train a little, beloved Listener?" he managed instead.  
She smiled. _Really_ smiled. At Cicero. "I'd be honored, Keeper."


	17. 17: Travel Breaks and Sparring Lessons

**A/N:** Woo-hoo! Another chapter ASAP!:D Anyway, this is the last one before I head off to London, and then I'll start posting again from the week of the 24th. So, I wanna end this A/N with a couple Thank You's to my readers, favoriters, followers and silent lurkers – **lilidove, SorenDevin, YuePantera, CheySkywalker, SkullKing223, Spark and Fire, Velsoul89, Horror Story 13** – and all 29 followers, 21 favoriters – it means a lot to me, you guys!:D Your reviews feed me and keep this story soaring high in my muses. Lotsa love to y'all, my lovelies! May you walk always in the shadow of Sithis.

**Chapter 17: Travel Breaks and Sparring Lessons**

I lay on my back in my bed that night, unable to sleep despite the training Cicero and I did together for most of the afternoon. He had beaten me each time, and it was frustrating. I learned to act faster and plan as things changed, so by the end I was figuring him out a little more, but I had been too tired to make much use of it. And now, probably a little before midnight, I was still awake: my mind replaying the moment when Cicero and I had hidden the huntress's body. The way he had looked at me, specifically. It had been… almost…. I struggled to find the right word. _Hungry? Wistful?_ I frowned at the ceiling. _Had Cicero wanted to _kiss_ me?_ A massive grin exploded across my face when I thought that. The last man I had allowed close enough to try to kiss me had gotten his throat cut seconds later: he was my target for a minor contract Nazir had given me, and that was four or five years ago. And before that… I sighed through my nose and pursed my lips. Before then it had been the man who had eventually become the first of many who turned into my ticket to the Dark Brotherhood. My mood soured instantly as I remembered him, my lips instinctively curling into a sneer. I had been only twelve… sold when my drunk gambler of a father couldn't afford both of us anymore. I smirked darkly at the ceiling as I remembered how I had killed the nobleman he had sold me to. Oh, what a joyous night that had been. And the woman in Shor's Stone after that, and her sister, and unfortunately her son had survived. Then I went to Windhelm, and three years later my life had changed for the better….  
I left those thoughts behind, and wondered what it would be like to kiss Cicero. My smirk turned into a soft smile, and I felt giddy all over. There wasn't a chance in the Void I was going to fall asleep in this state. I let my mind's eye show me the Keeper's face and especially his eyes this afternoon. I'll be saved by the Divines if he hadn't been considering whether or not he should kiss me. A stupidly massive grin was now properly plastered on my face. I needed to get rid of all my energy. I rolled upright and out of bed, wondering where I'd go, and what exactly I'd do. I settled on going through what Cicero had shown me when we returned to the Sanctuary.  
It was a slow kind of training, working on balance and focus. I had failed miserably this afternoon, growing so frustrated with it that Cicero had eventually agreed to let me spar it out with him. I had forgotten that he was still better than me, even hand-to-hand, and after he pinned me to the ground for the third time, I started fighting dirty, relying on my instincts to guide my blows as I had that morning. Cicero had started sniggering gleefully, and although I was finally managing to be a little difficult to beat, he still got me another two times before we both called it quits. We were both breathing hard, and drenched in sweat. Once alone in the washroom – Cicero having left for his private one – I examined the fine collection of bruises I had acquired when we had gotten carried away. I healed them with my restoration spell, and washed away the grime of our mock-battle. I was going to be deliciously stiff in the morning.  
I came back to the present when Babette glanced at me when I passed. I flashed her a toothy grin, and the coy smile of a young woman spread over the little-girl face. I pretended not to notice what she insinuated as she wiggled her brows at me, and padded barefoot to the training area. I breathed in deeply, trying to focus my thoughts on what I was going to do. It took me several minutes, but I finally calmed down enough to start stretching. I could already feel my muscles were stiff. It was a pleasant change: the last time I had been stiff was eight years ago, when my training was still incomplete. I slowly started flowing through the movements Cicero had shown me. I wasn't sure how long I had been there, but when I finally stopped I was warm, slightly damp and thoroughly tired. I cleaned myself up and donned new robes before flopping onto my bed, hugging my pillow to my chest as I lay on my stomach.

* * *

I was grumpy that morning. Grumpy and snappy, and I wanted to kill the first thing that irritated me. Little sleep did that to me, especially when I was home with my brothers and sisters, because their actions or words would probably set me off – and little Aventus would be the receiving end of it all. If I was alone, my mood would change from grumpy to hyper-alert. That little Imperial boy had _better not_ push my buttons _this_ morning…. _Or Astrid, for that matter._ I stalked down for breakfast, my face set in a deep scowl. Nazir gave me a once-over. I immediately knew what sarcastic comment he would make – _Good morning, Sunshine, you've got such a cheery smile, don't you go turn it upside down, now_ – also knowing he'd keep quiet because he wasn't interested in a fight so early. I was grateful that my Family had come to know my more extreme habits and moods. There were still leftovers from the food Festus had made yesterday afternoon, and it was warmed over the fire. I ladled the stew into a bowl, and ignoring the promise I had made to myself about mead, poured a large tankard of it to make my day start off just a little bit better. I sat down at the furthest end of the table, away from the already chatty group. I was finally beginning to feel a little better when Aventus plopped down next to me. _Oh, Sithis help you…. And me,_ I thought darkly, ignoring him as he started eating. I slurped the stew, concentrating on its warmth and flavor. "So, Alysa, I was thinking that today we could maybe head into Falkreath," Aventus started cheerfully. I felt the gazes of my other brothers and sisters on us, especially on Aventus. I think they might have been trying to warn him without making it too obvious. Astrid came by, rounding my end of the table, a slight smile on her lips as she winked at my younger brother. I narrowed my eyes at her, scowling even deeper. _She_ had something to do with this. "Aventus, why don't you come join us over here?" Gabrielle tried.  
Aventus shook his head. "I'd like it if you could show me around, and tell me about –"  
"For the love of _Sithis_," I spat, rounding on him. "_Leave me alone_. I am _not_ interested in you: not now, not ever, _boy_. You were _eleven_ when I met you; I was _nineteen_. Whether you like it or not, I still think of you as a little boy who belongs in Honorhall Orphanage, with all the other pathetic little creatures that were there," I stood, my half-eaten breakfast suddenly not so appealing. Thank the Night Mother my mead was already finished. "And as of now, _you_ will refer to me as your _Listener_," I snarled, striding out. I was cold all over from my rage. It vaguely registered that it was also the first time I had used my new-found title to get what I wanted. When I suddenly came to my senses again, I was standing at the Night Mother's coffin. I glanced around. I couldn't see Cicero anywhere. I opened the lid, and sat down cross-legged at the Night Mother's feet. I sighed angrily. "Damn that bloody Imperial to Sovngarde and back," I started.

* * *

Cicero froze. Was that… the _Listener?_ No, surely Cicero is hearing things again. Hee hee, yes: just the voices again. But then it continues! Cicero doesn't normally hear it _so_ clearly…. He inches closer to the Night Mother's chambers. If there is a defiler… Cicero shall throw them on a _pyre!_ Hee hee hee…. He snuck forwards, staying close to the wall. A woman's voice spoke clearly – clearly angry! Oh, sweet Mother, what is she fuming and flaming and ranting and raving about? Cicero wonders. "I swear, if he doesn't just _leave me alone_, I'll probably end up gutting him myself! I just can't believe that _idiot_ fool would even think that he stood a chance with me! Foolish Imperial…."  
Cicero froze. Was the honorable, beautiful Listener talking about… _him?_ Humble Cicero? Cicero hoped not. Oh, dear Night Mother and terrible Sithis, please: let it not be Cicero! Cicero doesn't want to be the one his Listener doesn't like… doesn't _love_. Cicero kept listening, anyway. _Eavesdropping,_ he corrected himself, inching closer. He could see the Listener sitting cross-legged by the Night Mother's open coffin. "But Cicero…" the Listener's voice trailed softly, sweetly. Cicero felt his hopes and heart soar. Oh! _THANK_ you, Unholy Night Mother and Dread Father Sithis! Dear Alysa was ranting and raving about Aventus! "Cicero is an entirely different matter. In fact, I think I –"  
Cicero could hear the smile in her voice. He couldn't hold his excitement anymore. "_Listener!_ It's you! It's the Listener!" Cicero squeals, jumping forwards and bounding to his honorable Listener. "Cicero thought he was imagining things – voices – again, but when Cicero came to see, he saw the Listener!" he babbled. Cicero knows he's babbling, and the Listener looks wary. Cicero beams at her.  
"How long have you been there?" she asked, twisting to look at the dear Fool of Hearts.  
"Well, Cicero came as soon as he heard muttering, and when he saw you sitting here, he said hello! Well, not 'hello'; after all, Cicero called you the 'Listener', which is what you are and–" Cicero stopped, watching his Listener, his dear Alysa, grin. She still hadn't stood, and was _still_ twisted to look at Cicero. So pretty… so strong, too. Difficult to teach but a fast learner once she stopped over-thinking. Cicero loved that about his Listener. Among various other things…. "Cicero?" she asked.  
Cicero swallowed. "Yes, Listener?"  
She scoffed quietly. "You really don't need to call me 'Listener' when no-one else is around," she hesitated. Cicero wondered at it. "I'd prefer it if you called me Alysa."  
Cicero blinked. Had he heard right? She had spoken so softly…. "Alysa?" She looked back at Cicero. "Must Cicero call you Alysa?"  
She took a deep breath. "Yes. I'd like you to call me by my name." She smiled.  
Cicero beamed back. "Then Cicero shall call you Alysa!" he skipped closer, sitting down next to Alysa. "What does our Mother say?"  
"She hasn't said much to me now, but I can feel her presence when I speak to her. It's strangely comforting to feel," she looked up at our dear Night Mother. "A little disconcerting, and cold, but comforting."  
Cicero looked up at the Night Mother, then at Alysa's profile. So perfect, so perfect…. A few strands of her hair fell between Cicero and Alysa, and Cicero wanted to brush it away.

* * *

I could feel Cicero staring at me. I was trying hard to ignore his steel-grey gaze, but the lightness in my stomach was proof of his effect on me. I wondered if he noticed. When my loose hair fell between us, I felt a little relieved to be protected from his piercing gaze – though I also wished for it. Cicero shifted next to me, and a few moments later gloved fingers gently brushed my hair away, tucking it behind my ear. I turned to look at Cicero, seeing the same surprise in his eyes as I was sure was also in mine. His fingers trailed lightly along my jaw, and I couldn't think of anything else – just his touch, his eyes, how close he was to me…. We stared at each other for a few seconds, but a crash from the training room and Arnbjorn's loud swearing and a younger man's cry had both of us on our feet, immediately alert. I turned to look for Cicero when I saw he had closed the Night Mother's coffin. He was silent and fast. I admired that about the jester; the skills he still had. I licked my lips and turned to the door, stalking out with Cicero taking the rear, a soft hiss of a dagger sliding out of its sheath the only sound he made.  
A lone howl turning to deep growling met our ears at the training area – a few tables had been overturned and smashed, along with a few of the dummies. Aventus was pinned to the floor under one of Arnbjorn's massive mealy-white werewolf paws, pale and lying dead still aside from a few involuntary shivers as our resident wolf growled in the young Imperial's face. I could only imagine what that must've smelt like. I sniggered despite myself, immediately sobering and slapping a hand over my mouth when Arnbjorn's wolfish attention turned to me. I didn't have a weapon, and I wasn't wearing armor, and Arnbjorn was furious about something – murderous, if he had phased into a wolf. And there were only two things that got him this angry: something about Astrid, or something about this Sanctuary. A hand tugged at my arm, pulling my backwards. I stumbled, surprised as Cicero's motley-covered form moved in front of me, dagger in his left hand. "Cicero, wait," I breathed. Babette was standing in the shadows, ready to dart out and pull our younger brother from immediate harm's way, given the chance. Her red eyes glowed a little as she concentrated. Astrid stormed in, followed hotly by Festus, Gabrielle and Nazir, the last two chuckling silently at the spectacle. Festus cleared his throat, calmly striding forwards as magic glowed around his hands. Arnbjorn snarled at snapped at him, ignoring his pinned prey for the challenge that presented itself. "Really, pup, you should learn to _control_ yourself better," the old Breton chided, his magic glowing a brighter green.

Arnbjorn pounced.

Festus didn't flinch, throwing his magic at the werewolf.

Arnbjorn crashed to the ground, paralyzed as Festus immediately used his magicka to cast a calming spell. It must've been one he had developed specifically for werewolves, because Arnbjorn immediately started phasing back into a Nord man. I looked over at where Aventus had been, and saw him safe on the other side of the Sanctuary with Babette, still watching warily as she held onto Aventus's arm. Astrid was grumbling angrily about the damage and werewolves as she grabbed a cloth from somewhere and threw it at a very naked Arnbjorn. "Get dressed," she snapped, storming past everyone to her chambers. I tried hard to bite back the giggles that threatened to break out. They came out anyway as a strangled chortle. Cicero gave me a funny look, and I lost it. I sniggered openly, and Nazir's deep rumble soon joined me. Babette only grinned, slightly sleepy, and our younger brother Aventus only looked more upset and embarrassed. Arnbjorn seemed too relaxed to catch the humor, barely getting the cloth around his waist as he grinned merrily, humming some happy tune as he strolled to his shared room with Astrid. She probably wouldn't let him in, and only _just_ throw out some clothes while she worked out what needed replacing, and how much it would cost. I loosed Cicero's fingers on my arm, lightly brushing past him down the stairs. "So, Aventus," I called, smirking gleefully at him. "What did you do to our werewolf that he lost it so much he phased?"  
"Foolish boy probably doesn't even realize what he did," Festus grumbled, scowling off to his spell-making altar. Aventus blushed furiously, and Babette poked his ribs, grinning. Then she yawned.  
"To bed for me. I'm up too late," she declared, walking to her stone slab. "_Again_," she added as an afterthought.  
"Ah, yes: Gabrielle, your contract is in Whiterun. Someone wants one of Kynareth's priests dead," Nazir interjected, turning to Gabrielle with an innocent expression. "Now, if _that_ isn't divine intervention, then I don't know what is."  
The few of us still around sniggered, and even Aventus managed a nervous, twitchy smile. The Redguard and Dunmer walked off to the dining room to discuss the contract further. "Let's train," I called to Aventus and Cicero.  
The Keeper's face lit up, and Aventus looked crestfallen. "Yes, Listener," they chorused, one bright and madly cheerful, the other definitely defeated. I grinned. I'd bet Aventus had mentioned something about Astrid to get Arnbjorn all worked up like that, and it would be my pleasure to embarrass him even more with a lovely training session with Cicero. I glanced back at the Keeper, offering a smile which he returned. I felt humbled that he had tried to protect me: few people had ever done that for me.


	18. 18: The First Cut is the Deepest

**A/N:** Ok, so it's not quite the double update I had planned (next should follow in a few days), but London and surrounds kept me pretty busy!:D It was amazing, I'd go again. But anyway, I don't think I did too badly – I'm about 3/4 of the way through Tar's lineart, and chapter 19 of this is bugging my brain in the most horrible of waysX3 But I love it. So, I couldn't sit on this one anymore which is why it's here. So, do enjoy it, my lovelies; and may you walk always in the shadow of our Dread Father Sithis. And he has a new Tenant – if you do not review, you shall experience (cue Lucien Lachance's voice (Oblivion fans know _exactly _what I'm talking about hereXD) the Wrath, of Sithis.  
Lolz, jk. Enjoy!

**Chapter 18: The First Cut is the Deepest**

Cicero sighed happily, breathing in the _finally_ warmer spring air of Falkreath Hold. See, Cicero and Alysa were out here, on our way to the city. It had been two weeks since that horrid, nasty wolf had become the _wolf_, and he was still acting funny from Festus's spell. It was actually a little funny, really. Well, more than a _little_ funny. Cicero giggled. "You're _still_ getting a kick out of Arnbjorn's 'condition', aren't you?" Alysa asked, smiling. Oh, Cicero loved it when she smiled…. He just wished he could watch her walk in front of him, once in a while, to see her hips sway gently…. Cicero giggled again. "Of course! The Fool of Hearts thinks it's terribly funny! Tee-hee-hee!"  
Alysa laughed, and we walked on, on, on!  
"Cicero, do you sleep with that thing on?" Cicero blinked at her, stopping. Her eyes twinkled. "Your jester's cap. Do you sleep with it on?"  
"I… w-well, Cicero… he, no– _hey!_"  
Alysa ran, giggling. She stole Cicero's cap! Right off his head! Gone! "Give it back to Cicero!" he shouted, running after the dear Listener. She was fast, agile. And little. Cicero had trouble finding her, now and again. So he just listened for the Listener. Cicero giggled. She was giggling and laughing. Cicero had heard from his brothers and sisters this was the happiest they'd seen her when she _wasn't_ killing. Could it be, it was because of… _Cicero?_ He hoped so! Oh, that would be a wonderful thing, if it was because of Cicero! Because he feels the same way with her…. The Listener had stopped running, and Cicero slowed to stand and listen. "_Liiiiisssteneeeeeerrrrrrrrr…_" Cicero sang softly, turning and listening. Leaves, wind. "Cicero will _find you_…."  
Twigs snapped to Cicero's left. He jumped. Alysa squealed, and Cicero pulled her down with him; on his back, and _her_ back on Cicero's front. We giggled and laughed, just lying there for a few moments. She still had Cicero's cap in her hands.

* * *

Cicero had found me the second I moved, because I had miscalculating the still-wintry twigs and smaller branches in the forest, caught up in my game of Steal-the-Jester's-Cap. His arms and circled around my waist from behind and I had squealed as he pulled me down on top of him, laughing. I was still clutching his cap, and our laughter died slowly, picking up now and again before fading into a comfortable, amiable silence as we tried to catch our breath. I suddenly realized I wasn't uncomfortable with him holding me, having him so close to me. I was just positioned to my head could rest on his chest, and the steady rise and fall as he breathed had me entranced. His arms tightened around my waist, and I found my fingers lacing in between his. He gently squeezed my fingers, and I couldn't help but smile.

I didn't know how long we lay there – didn't actually care, really – when Cicero shifted. I could feel his lips press against my hair briefly. My breath hitched in my throat – there was no way he could miss that. I wondered if he could hear just how wildly my heart was thundering, too. "Cicero would love to stay here forever, dear Alysa," he murmured softly, "but we _do_ need to go to Falkreath, and Cicero is sure Festus and Nazir might join forces against us if we return without food for them to argue about"  
I giggled softly. "Them? Join forces? It'll be a miracle." I scooted to the ground and stood up, Cicero only seconds behind. I dusted the seat of my leather pants, and held Cicero's cap out to him while he smoothed his motley over. He took his cap, and with a dramatic flourish and very straight and serious face, put it back on his head. I just stared at him, and we both tried very hard not to laugh and twitch as we stared, but eventually we both started laughing. Falkreath wasn't much further, and we made our way to the small market, still giggling now and again. It was best to start there before heading to the general trader and other stores, simply because it was cheaper. I kept trying to be discrete about the sideways glances I shot Cicero. Was he acting differently? Did he feel the same way I did? I'd have to wait until we were home before I started asking more questions. Cicero skipped and twirled, swishing his cap off and bowing with a lot of grand flourishes when we came into view of the town. Several children were running up to us, squealing and giggling while the adults looked on, bemused. Cicero turned to look at me, singing slowly, softly in a deadly voice as he walked backwards: "_Madness is merry; and merriment's might: when the jester comes calling with his knife in the night…._" His eyes gleamed, and he turned back to the crowd. "The Fool of Hearts is here!" he cried, pulling his cap on again.  
I snorted good-naturedly. "A fool you are," I quipped as I passed him. He gasped dramatically, but couldn't reply as he was bombarded by questions and requests from all the children at once. I was sure he'd keep everyone quite busy for a while. _He would have been quite the bard_, I thought, turning to look at him once I reached a vegetable stall. An elderly Breton woman smiled in Cicero's direction. "It's good to have a merryman in these parts again. He does wonders for everyone here," she smiled gently at me. I smiled back, but not quite for the same reason. Would she still sing his praises if she knew he was an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood? That he was the Night Mother's Keeper? That his madness wasn't quite as feigned as so many believed it was? I doubted it. "What can I help you with, dearie?" the Breton woman asked.  
I handed her a list Nazir and Festus had composed for me and Cicero. "I need these items, whichever you have here. Also, since I don't know much about the different vegetables, could you mark which ones I buy from you?"  
The woman nodded. "Of course, dearie. Let me see here…." She rummaged through various baskets and pulled out carrots, cabbages, radishes, potatoes, onions and a few other things I wasn't paying much attention to. I suddenly realized Cicero was carrying the satchels we took to carry our goods in. "Cicero! The bags!" I called, watching him catch several balls he had been juggling. He grinned, tossing the balls into the air as he made his way to me, still juggling and turning. I paid little over one hundred gold for all of it, packing the produce into the bags after Cicero finally caught all the balls and handed the bags to me. He started juggling the balls again, and finally tossed them into the crowd of children, and occasionally at a teenager or adult, if they looked interested enough. I dipped my head briefly in greeting to the Breton woman, making my way to the next stall, listening in on Cicero's absurd arsenal of jokes. Some were plainly crude in over-exaggerated humor, while others were witty political statements – I suspected he was far more aware of what went on outside the Sanctuary than he let on. "Hold!" a sharp Imperial voice shouted, bringing an abrupt end to things. Cicero had even stopped mid-word at the harsh command. He turned, frowning at the person who had interrupted the generally good mood in the market. "The Fool of Hearts doesn't like being interrupted, you know," he said crossly, hands on his hips. I turned to see who he was addressing, and immediately felt my blood freeze over in anger. Those thrice-cursed Penitus Oculatus agents…. To the _Void_ with them _all!_ They would learn to fear our Dread Father Sithis…. My fingers itched to pull out the daedric daggers in my boots, and sink them deep into the agent's body, twisting and turning them to make his blood spray and gurgle out, hear his screams as he begged for my mercy… taste the metallic tang of the essential lifeblood…. I forced myself to focus, clenching my jaw. The agent had glared harshly at Cicero, and strode closer. He was an older man, something of a Nord I supposed, by his tall, broad build; his dark blonde hair cropped short like that of all the other soldiers in the Imperial Legion, though he wore the considerably more expensive and distinguishing armor of the Penitus Oculatus. His armor chinked together softly as he moved, standing close to Cicero. I was reminded of when Tar had challenged the agent who had been asking for me and my siblings. I breathed deeply, feeling my senses sharpen even more in my cold rage. "I suggest you keep your mouth _shut_, jester," he half-hissed, half-spat slowly and clearly, finally turning away from Cicero to the now-silent crowd. I hefted the pack higher on my shoulder, and moved closer to Cicero. He shot me a look that shared my feelings about this. He nudged one of the children that were closest to him away, and it got the lot of them scurrying to their parents. I watched the Penitus Oculatus agent warily as his paced along the crowd. "We of the Penitus Oculatus have reason to believe that several members of the Dark Brotherhood frequent this city and this Hold. We have provided your jarl with a description of the distinguishing features of these cowardly cutthroats. If anyone has any information regarding these dangerous individuals, do not hesitate to contact us or your jarl. We strongly advise everyone to avoid any contact with such individuals, and that you avoid entertaining any kind of communication with them – they will not hesitate to kill anyone who might present a threat to them or their pitiful organisation, be it a soldier, a bard, a wife or a child."  
Cicero took a step forwards and opened his mouth. I reacted, grabbing him and clamped my hand around his mouth. "_Hmm-mmmm-m! Mmffff! Fm, hmm!_" he ranted, his words muffed and confused.  
"Shut up! We actually need to get home _alive_," I hissed into his ear, our earlier, happier moments forgotten for the moment. He sighed angrily, frowning. But he relaxed and nodded curtly. I let him go just as the agent turned to look at us. I let my hands drop onto his shoulders, standing closer to Cicero, my temple just brushing against his neck. I kept my face smooth as the agent looked us over before disappearing to another part of the city. "Let's get the last of what we need and go," I breathed, stepping back and turning to the meat stall. Cicero sulked but followed me, taking the heavy meats once we paid. We glanced at each other, immediately heading south first. We'd take the long way around, and take out anyone who tried to follow us. It was a tense and silent journey – one that _should_ have been merry and relaxed and full of nonsensical banter. A trip that should have taken only half an hour ended up taking over much of the rest of the day as we backtracked and covered our tracks and hid and circled around the area. When we finally came back late that afternoon, Aventus was pacing worriedly outside to greet us. He glanced between us uncomfortably. "Keeper, Listener…" he greeted stiffly, shifting his weight and glancing down, his gaze flitting between his boots and us.  
"Inside," I ordered softly, glancing around me once more, and a few seconds later his slightly hesitant murmur of 'Silence, my brother' had us all safe inside the Sanctuary again. I brushed past him, stuffing my bag into his arms. Cicero pulled him along while I headed to Astrid's chambers. She glanced up with a frown when I rapped the door harshly. "Penitus Oculatus agents know we're in Falkreath. Everyone has to go out in disguises because they've alerted the jarl to our signature armor. We can't head into the city from the west anymore, either. That's why we're so late: one of the agents had a short speech while we were there, explaining how exactly the people of Falkreath should deal with us," I explained shortly before she could ask.  
Astrid jerked upright in her chair, frowning deeply at the news I brought. "It's gotten that bad, hey?"  
I dipped my head quickly. "We all have to be more careful now. We got what we needed to, but it's going to get harder. Eventually someone from Falkreath will crack and tell what they remember; it's only a matter of when."  
Astrid nodded thoughtfully, her lids heavy as she turned away from me, her head quickly dropping into her hands. "I see. Thank you, Alysa."  
I turned and left. I still wasn't fond of her, and the feeling was growing stronger and more mutual with each passing day. The lingering look she gave me when I turned away was enough to make me want to scratch her eyes out and leave bloody, gory holes as masterpieces of my handiwork, her screeches would be the glorious product of my musical genius. I grinned, heading to the dining hall for food. Cicero and I had successfully managed to skip lunch and eating any snacks in our escape from Falkreath.

* * *

Cicero was concerned about those agents closing in on his Family – his Listener, specifically. He wanted to protect her from them and yet, today, she had protected _him_. If Cicero hadn't been such a fool, hadn't forgotten that one man _can't_ possibly hope to fight an entire army, dear, sweet Alysa wouldn't have _had_ to protect Cicero…. "Here, in the cold storage," Cicero corrected Aventus quickly, leading him into a small chamber Festus kept chilled with magic to keep the food for longer – it was just to one side of the dining hall. "Pack here, like so," Cicero pointed, showing his younger brother how to place the meats. Cicero remembers when he used to do this in the Bruma Sanctuary, so long ago… it was one of the things new brothers and sisters had been expected to do while they were training and such. Cicero started unpacking the fruits, leaving a few carrots in the bag for himself. Even the three sweetrolls Cicero and dear Alysa had bought, Cicero kept for himself. He'd share with his Listener when they were alone: just for the Listener and the Keeper. Cicero smiles. He heard the way she snatched her breath when he had kissed her hair… Cicero had loved that sound, it was one he wanted to hear again, as soon as possible and as often as possible. "What makes _you_ smile now, Keeper?" Aventus asked, bitter.  
Cicero had heard about Alysa shooting him down. He almost sniggered. "Oh, this and that, and his sister's hat," he sings, and glances at an upset Aventus. It's was like seeing many different people who looked the same…. Cicero blinked at his thought. Or, was it one person who just looked like many different ones? Cicero thinks that's confusing, but it could very well be true! After all, Cicero was many different people, and still the same one… much like the jester who _had been_. But he feels a little sorry for his younger brother: Cicero knows about solitude, and it's not a nice place – the city _and_ the feeling. "One day; little brother, there will be one you love and who loves you. But there is not one yet: Cicero understands a thing or two about solitude, and he knows it's not a very good place to be in…" he looks back at Aventus. "But Cicero… Cicero will _not_ be idle if you try to take whatever you feel for the Listener further – you remember all of that from the first day you came here to your new home."  
Aventus just looked at Cicero, and nodded stiffly. Cicero watched him for a short while longer: he suddenly didn't trust this new blood… but he also suddenly felt very sorry for him. He'd keep a closer eye on his little brother after this. We finished packing quickly – Cicero supposed it was a little awkward after that, too – and Cicero took his sweetrolls and carrots and drew the drawstring on the bag, heading back to the Night Mother. "Hmm… must get all those hard-to-reach places to keep Mother perfect…. Humble, dear Cicero will have a quiet night, he thinks. Cicero could be wrong about his little brother – he _has_ been wrong a few times before, after all. Maybe Cicero is just over-protective because Cicero finally has someone else, besides you, Mother?"


	19. 19: Life's a Bloody Charm, Really

**A/N:** And so ends the fluff!:D We're kicking back into it all, my lovelies, and I'm very excited for it. I'm sure all of you are, too. So, I've been working through all 18 previous chapters, editing and fixing and changing a few things here and there – most significantly, the time it takes Alysa to cross the country – this kinda runs parallel to Tar's story, which I will eventually plot out properly and write, and he doesn't take as long to travel as Alysa does, so yeah. But that's beside the point. I've also added a few tidbits about her past in a few places, and I think some of the chapters got a little longer by at least 100-300 words, and all those dreadful typos have been dealt with – unless I missed one, in which case could I ask someone to kindly point it/them out to me, and send me on my way to fix? Much appreciated in advance. Anywho, I'd also like to say that I've finally finished drawing Alysa, and she has been posted to my deviantArt profile – links on my page. She's not perfect, I know – I want to put up a screenshot of her, as well – but it'll give you an idea of what she looks like. So, I'm done rambling now: may our Dread Father always guide your blade, and pen. As usual, I'd prefer your pen;p Or, actually, a review!

**Chapter 19: Life's a Bloody Charm, Really**

The green lizard-man-Argonian Veezara came back about three days after Cicero and Aventus had our talk, and Cicero was almost more eager to hear about what he had to say about Solitude and the wedding than Alysa – and she was pacing in the training room until Cicero _finally_ offered to spar with her – she'd already given Aventus a solid beating (Cicero giggles at _that_ memory of the young Imperial) – and Cicero found she fought better when she was a little tense; she planned less and reacted more, which was important when staying alive. But she was still distracted, so it was easy for Cicero to pin her to the ground several times – Cicero was glad it was hard work to fight, because he was sure he had blushed more than once. At least now, Cicero could blame the hard work he was doing on his slightly redder face… hee-hee-hee. Cicero was also glad – in hindsight, of course – that Aventus had stayed to watch and other brothers and sisters flitted in and out and through. It kept the Fool of Hearts a little more focused on the fighting than on the Listener. When Veezara finally came in, Cicero had tangled with the Listener and held her fast. She was snarling something, and struggling to break free. It would be difficult, but it was possible. "Hm; you've gotten better, Alysa," the Shadowscale hummed gruffly.  
Alysa turned her head to look at him, struggling with Cicero before suddenly going still. She sighed angrily, "Mind if you help me get out of this?"  
"No! Wicked Cicero can't let the Shadowscale help you…. Think a little about it. It's quite– _oof!_"  
The Listener had thrown her weight backwards and up against Cicero, and he toppled over. Dear, witty Alysa wriggled free and snatched up a training dagger. She pinned Cicero's arms to his body with her legs, straddling humble Cicero as she put the dagger to his throat. She grins darkly at Cicero. "I guess I win." She stood, holding out a hand for Cicero. "It's about time," she added as a quiet afterthought. Cicero sniggered. "So, Veezara, how was Solitude?" Alysa asked before Cicero could say anything.  
The Argonian shrugged. "Not too interesting. The wedding is set for three months from now – it's the official date – and there are many places to strike from, just few to escape by. It won't be easy, but I almost envy you," he grinned that toothy-lizard grin. "You'll enjoy the challenge, Alysa. And if you've been training with the Keeper…" he just turned away, grin still there. Cicero beamed. Cicero had always been a decent fighter, and once he learnt to fight dirty… few could beat Cicero. Well, _Shadowscales_ obviously could, but that was because they were different. Born to kill…. Such a pity this one was the last. And now, Cicero wasn't as young as he had been and he was _very_ out of practice, so Cicero supposes there would be quite a few who could – _would_ – beat him. Cicero and Alysa followed to the alchemy lab, where Nazir and Babette and Festus were busy with who-knows-what. Well, Cicero supposed _they_ knew what they were doing, but this little group of four didn't know. Aventus was skulking in the back, and Cicero resisted the temptation to glare back at him. The un-child was slouching by her alchemy table, her eyes closed and her little child's chin in her little child's hand. Cicero stared for a while, completely stunned – again – that something so innocent-looking was so dangerous-acting-and-being. "Ah! Our resident lizard has returned! Tell me, how was Solitude? I hope you weren't too lonely…." Nazir greeted. It seemed not only Cicero liked using that pun….  
Cicero and his brothers and sisters laughed, and Cicero heard and then turned to see the horrid wolf-man growl in amusement behind Cicero, his terrible, traitorous harlot next to him. Cicero sniffed, turning back to the conversation. His fingers twitch-twitch-twitched for his ebony dagger. Oh, sweet Mother and Dread Father, Cicero knows he shouldn't ask this, because it's not what an assassin or a Keeper _should_ ask, but please, oh please-please-please, stay Cicero's thirsty blade. At least for now. A little while longer, please.

* * *

I felt better after sparring with Cicero. His last hold on me had left me confused and annoyed that I couldn't break it easily, but it wasn't all that bad. I just hoped I wouldn't get stuck on my knees with my hands pinned behind my back again, and a hold on my throat: Cicero was wicked with his fighting techniques, and I had a feeling he'd enjoy torturing people. Besides, my knees throbbed a little from what I had done to get out of it. _I wonder what it would feel like to torture someone,_ I thought briefly, returning to my earlier train of thought as the others continued to make jokes. I'd heard of times when the Brotherhood had taken victims for torture a long time ago…. I brought my focus back to Veezara. I was eager to hear about his scouting, and see what basic sketches he had done of the area to map it out. "Yes, that's wonderful; really it is; but I could care less. What about the wedding reception? Where is it going to be held? What's the security like?" I interjected, stepping forwards and running my fingers through my loose, slightly sweat-damp hair and drawing it into a pony before dejectedly dropping it: I had nothing to tie it with. Nazir snorted. "Well, I see you're still yourself, after it all…" he winked.  
I scowled back at him, about to fire back a sharp remark when Veezara interrupted. "Still herself? It seems I've missed quite a bit while I was gone. How about some hot food while we talk?"  
Babette stifled a yawn, staring at us blearily. "I've woken up far too early. But I'll make an exception for you, Brother, because this is going to be interesting." She pulled out a red bottle from under her alchemy table, heaving herself up from her chair and – if vampires could – stumbled past us all to the dining hall. We trouped after her, filling tankards with mead and ale, and spooned large bowls of something that might have been Nazir's-turned-Festus's stew. It was a strange taste, but I almost like it the best. Veezara took his time to get on with it, and I was getting fidgety. I knew he was toying with me a little. "By Sithis, give me the damnable maps you made, at least!" I finally exclaimed. The Shadowscale gave me a toothy grin, pushing his empty bowl to one side and pulling out the rough sketches, laying them out on the table. I looked over them briefly: they were mildly confusing and disorienting, probably to protect him if he had been caught with them. "Explain all of this to me. What's Solitude like? How many people?" I started.  
Veezara rearranged them, and I suddenly saw an entire blueprint of a courtyard before me. "It's in the courtyard of the Temple of the Divines, close to the Castle Dour which could be a potential escape, since it apparently leads to the land outside of Solitude," Veezara paused, taking a breath to continue.  
Gabrielle interrupted before he could go on, though. "Ah, yes! The parapet over there…" she pointed. "Opposite the balcony. A friend of a friend will leave a little something there for you, my sister, to help with the assassination. I'm sure you will appreciate it. _If_ you choose to go that way. If you don't, well, my friend _will_ say he wants it, so I suppose he'll rather prefer it if you _don't_ go that way."  
I stared at her back as she retreated to the upstairs sleeping area. She had probably just arrived from another contract: I hadn't seen much of her this last week or so. "I see…" I replied, trying hard not to be too confused by her and turned back to the maps. "So this building is the Temple, by the looks of it?" I motioned at the building next to the parapet Gabrielle had spoken about.  
Veezara nodded. "Yes. The balcony Gabrielle spoke of will be the one Vici gives her speeches from. From what I understand, there will be many throughout the three days. Mostly from her. Also, there is only one entrance to the courtyard – to the right of the lower dais on which the bride and groom will surely be," he sat back for a moment and sipped at his tankard. "I've heard whispers of another way out if you can't get onto the parapets, or out through this arch to the Castle Dour, but whether or not you will get in is another thing; assuming you're willing to take that route."  
I'd never seen Veezara look this uncomfortable before. "Which way is this?" I pressed.  
He hesitated before speaking. "In the Temple of the Divines, there are certain catacombs…."  
"Potema's Catacombs?" Festus interjected, frowning deeply. "You would have to be a fool or very desperate before you go down there. Rumor has it the place is crawling with undead."  
Veezara nodded. "Yes. Further whispers say that the Thane of Solitude had a run-in with those who wanted to summon Potema's spirit in Wolfskull Cave, and that he headed into her catacombs not a month later to deal with her spirit, and destroy her remains. Apparently, it leads into a barrow and barrows always have two exits. Assuming no other undead have moved in, it should still be clear: this happened about a month or so ago, a little while before I was in Solitude. How true any of this is, I wouldn't know; but it could be a last resort to consider."  
I wrinkled my nose instinctively. "I'd rather leave the dead and undead be. I only appreciate the company of one vampire, and that's more than enough for this Nord," I scoffed, scowling.  
"I thought as much," Veezara laughed, and the mood around the table eased. Even Babette had smiled, and her red bottle was empty – it suddenly occurred to me that she might have harvested blood and stored it for when she needed it. Arnbjorn snorted, and roughly shoved his chair back. "I'm sure the _Listener_ is more than capable of handling herself; she _is_ the Night Mother's 'chosen'."  
I raised a brow and followed him with my eyes as he left; pretending to miss Cicero's exasperated hiss and angry mutterings. Astrid followed a short while after. "I'll be back a little later. Sounds like the lot of you have this under control. Keep me updated."  
I turned back to the maps to see Babette pouting over them. "It's no fair. I love weddings," she sulked, almost to herself.  
Nazir laughed. "I'm sure you make the perfect flower girl, little vampire."  
We all sniggered, and our resident vampire glared playfully at the Redguard. "Listen, Alysa, I think I can help you. It's how _I_ would have done it, anyway," she said, turning back to the maps, glancing at me briefly. "The wedding reception is outside the Temple of the Divines…. So, the bride will probably address the crowd from this balcony," she pointed, and grinned darkly at me. "Well, there's an old statue there. I've seen it. Hanging right over where she'll be standing. Old means weak. Weak means it could fall. _Hmmm?_"  
I sniggered, and Festus grumbled something about magic being the solution to all problems in the world. I went silent as a sudden thought occurred to me. "Wait, who's the Thane of Solitude?"  
"Some High Elf called Tawarthion; he's also apparently the Dragonborn," Veezara shrugged.  
Aventus nodded eagerly. "Yep! And a high-ranking Stormcloak, too. Alysa – the Listener – and I –"  
"Briefly entertained them when we returned from Riften a few months ago," I growled softly at my younger brother, deepening my scowl when he frowned at me. "He'll definitely be at the wedding, as he told me then."  
"Can you manipulate him enough to use him?" Nazir asked, leaning back into his chair, pulling out a half-carven block of wood and a small knife from somewhere and carefully started carving the block, refining its shape and smoothing edges he thought was done.  
"Cicero didn't know you carved," the Keeper accused, staring at Nazir.  
"There are many things you don't know about me, Fool," Nazir grinned, finally glancing at us. It was the first time I'd seen it, too, but I let it be. We all had different habits and hobbies: this was also the first time I had been in the Sanctuary for as long as I had been here, so close to everyone, so I probably didn't know half the things they did in their free time anyway. I had always preferred it that way, for the simple reason that if there was no-one to care about, there was no-one to lose. I glanced at Cicero, and saw him frown at Nazir. "Anyway, back to the contract; I don't think so. Maybe, if I could plan the right trick, but I wouldn't bet on it. He's too…" I struggled for the word, frowning. "Un-assassinly; very…" I suddenly remembered the word he had used to describe himself when we first met. "He's too Dovahkiin."  
My Family stared blankly for a moment, and I just shrugged in reply. "Cicero sees how that could be a problem… but what if the mighty Listener hid behind the bride's chair, and –" he leapt up, knocking his chair over and whipping out his dagger, "_STAB-STAB-STAB-STAB-STABBED!_ the bride?" Cicero picked up his chair and sat down, sheathing his blade and grinned brightly. "Or poisoned the drinks with that wonderful poison of Babette's humble Cicero has yet to see in action? Wouldn't that be interesting?!"  
Festus nodded from his side of the table, finally agreeing with something that he might approve of. "Eh, I have a wonderful spell to perfect. Can't say anything just yet, but I do believe it will be my best yet!" he managed to exclaim, wheezing a chuckle, and made his way to the spell-making altar. "I think Babette's idea with the statue is perfect," Aventus said, grinning excitedly. "Heck, even poisoning the lot!"  
"Perhaps, but then you kill everyone who is supposed to live to tell the tale," Nazir returned, lifting his carving and studying it as he might study a gem. "Who can tell the story if they're dead? Unless, of course, they're _un_dead, and I doubt the Empire will allow Necromancers to practice their art after almost three-hundred years…" his rich laughter rumbled from his chest briefly.  
"Hmm…" I agreed, rolling my eyes when Aventus dipped his head: he should have a little more faith in his plans, and fight for their potential, but I wasn't about to stick up for him, or even point that out. I shifted uncomfortably, my clothes cool from the training. "I'm going to clean up, then look over these sketches again, and start getting everything together for this assassination. Long live the Dark Brotherhood!"  
"Long live the Dark Brotherhood!" my siblings chorused loudly, and I grinned as they laughed. My gaze met Babette's for a moment, and I thought she mouthed 'Listener', but I couldn't be sure. There was one thing I could be sure of, though: this was it, this was what we had been waiting for, without even knowing it.

* * *

Cicero and Veezara – and sometimes Nazir – took over our little brother's training from then on, and days passed quickly as we all helped our beloved Listener prepare for this assassination. The first in many, all to kill the Emperor of Tamriel! Cicero couldn't wait! Oh, how he wanted to go with, to help hunt, and stalk, and kill, with his and his Listener's skill! Oh, it would be glorious, sweet Night Mother! To honor our Dread Father in such a way… oh, guide and protect your Listener, my Alysa – Cicero knows you will, of course, humble, dear Cicero has never doubted you, not ever! Well, maybe once or twice, but he has always stayed true! Always gone back to believing! Cicero always will. He just wishes he could have spent a little more time with honorable Alysa before she left – she only had less than a week before she _had_ to go, anyway, and then she would spend at least two-and-a-bit months on the roads to Solitude – Cicero tried so hard not to sob at that pun, terrible-terrible pun – and perhaps a month-and-a-bit if she cut across the country…. And then there would be a three-day reception, and his dear Alysa would strike – she would bring the Brotherhood glory, and fear and respect once again! Cicero was excited for his Listener, for the Night Mother, for Sithis, and he was beginning to think that all of his brothers and sisters would see that _pretender's_ heresies, and follow the Old Ways once more, and Cicero knew, he just _knows_, that everything will work out, and the _other_ place will soon need to be filled – with new members, new brothers and sisters as they come, called home by you, Unholy Matron, and guided by our Father. "Cicero is so _proud_ to be a part of all of this, sweet Mother," Cicero murmurs, gathering his oils and his tools, standing before your closed coffin, ready to oil and clean and preserve and Keep, as a Keeper should.


	20. 20: Bound Until Death, Part I

**A/N:** And here's another one!:D I didn't say it in the previous chapter (kinda forgot – sorry) but I've finished the editing and I've posted the new versions along with chapter 19 when it came up. So, without further ado, may the Night Mother wrap you in her cold, loving embrace as you review.

**Chapter 20: Bound Until Death, Part I**

It was ready! She was leaving, and Cicero felt a little sad. Most of the Sanctuary was going or gone, or still had to come back: Aventus was out on his first with Gabrielle, and that horrid, stupid lapdog of the _pretender_ was also gone – for that, Cicero was thrilled. He had danced and cheered and jeered and shrieked and giggled and cackled with pure ecstasy that the horrid, mean wolf-man was gone! Gone, gone _GONE!_ Cicero was so happy! But then, so was Babette the un-child and Festus was only due to return after Alysa was gone. It was just Veezara the Shadowscale, Nazir and the _pretender_ in the Sanctuary for a few days. But now, the day before dear Alysa was bound to leave, she sat cross-legged in front of the Night Mother's open coffin, looking up into our Mother's face with the look of someone in a deep conversation with someone else. Cicero felt a pang of hurt in his chest that it hadn't been _him_ who heard your voice, sweet Mother, but Cicero knows one can't be Keeper and Listener at the same time. Cicero just watched, leaning against a table with his arms folded over his motley, cap a little skew, but Cicero would rather watch the Listener than fix it, and his dear Alysa was always enjoyable to watch, oh, Cicero knows he should feel a little guilty about caring and loving for another, but dear Night Mother, would you not have stopped this if it was not what you wanted? Cicero _had_ always sworn to protect you, and then the Listener, when he or she – though in this case, definitely a _she_, sweet Mother – came to be, but even Cicero will admit that he hadn't quite expected this to happen. But Cicero is not sorry it has! Cicero is very thrilled about it, in fact. Cicero smiles. Oh, he's so happy, sweet Night Mother, Dread Father: Cicero is humbled, and thanks you for all of it. Now he just needs to find a way to deal with the _pretender_ and her lapdog. Oh-ho-ho… Cicero will _definitely_ find a way to deal with them….

* * *

When I stood up from my conversation with the Night Mother, and turned to look at Cicero, he had that dark grin on his face whenever he entertained thoughts of 'dealing with' Astrid and Arnbjorn. They were quite infectious, really. I had found a few of my thoughts turn that way whenever one or the other – or even both – irritated me. It was satisfying, but I was beginning to feel like I needed to get out of this Sanctuary, to hunt, to stalk and kill, to feel again the life force of my prey fade away…. I turned again to close the Night Mother's coffin, and faced the Fool of Hearts, taking him in, and his motley, and his skew cap. A half-grin crept up the side of my face. "Alysa," Cicero said softly, his grey eyes twinkling.  
"Cicero," I returned, stepping closer to him.  
"Cicero hopes you have a safe journey, and that you'll come back soon. With the whole of Solitude weeping and seeping in blood and tears, and with a very dead Vici soon to be buried," he winked.  
I smirked darkly at him. "Oh, I'm sure the whole of Solitude will be shocked. It's just the kind of uproar we want," the air suddenly felt heavy with something, something I couldn't place. "I'll be back in a few months, and then I'll tell you all about it. Should be a lovely wedding reception."  
Cicero giggled, "A 'bloody' good one, tee-hee-hee!"  
I snorted, shaking my head. "Goodbye, Cicero. I should be off."  
The Keeper pushed off from the table, and embraced me. I returned the gesture a little unsurely, my left cheek pressed to his chest. His arms tightened around me briefly, then he let go. "Hunt well, and the Night Mother and Sithis keep you, since you won't have a Keeper," he giggled.  
I flashed my teeth at him. "And you, Cicero."

I turned and left immediately, the heaviness in the air gone and I realized how eager I was to get on the road. My pack lay by the door, and I hefted it onto my shoulders. I scowled a quick goodbye at Nazir when he joked that I'd catch the bride's bouquet, and Veezara had stopped his training briefly to remind me about the potential escapes. Astrid stood by the Black Door. "Good luck, and bring honor, glory and fearful respect to our Family, Alysa."  
"You know I will," I heaved the Door open, and stepped into a grey morning. _It will rain soon,_ I thought, tacking up my steed and riding off. _Now you shall be bound together until death, newlyweds._ A dark grin spread over my face. _I missed this._

* * *

The capital of Skyrim came into view little less than a month later – I had cut across the country – and I couldn't help but marvel at the imposing city perched high over the Sea of Ghosts. I rode up along the road to a small farm where rows and rows of stables were, and left my horse there, tossing a few coins at a young boy who swore up and down to the Divines that he would look after the palomino. I spared him a brief smile and tousled his hair a little grudgingly on my part before hefting my pack a little higher – trying to find a more comfortable spot – and walking up the rest of the way to the capital. Hordes of people were trying to get into the city, and I was glad that I had decided to pull on my plain leather armor before making my way to the road – security had almost doubled what Veezara had told me, and it was difficult to get into the crowded city – I only saw the inside of it by midafternoon, impatiently inching along as the guards stopped certain people and searched their belongings. I was fortunate to escape that.

The grey stone city was brightly decorated with flags and flowers and whatever other fanciful things that came with the wedding – in fact, the place was abuzz with the impending celebrations. The entire city was shutting down for these three days – only the inns and restaurants would stay open to cater for the people. I decided to stay in the Winking Skeever, wondering briefly if I would see Tawarthion there, or if he had bought a house in the city. _Jarl Elisif probably gave him one since he's a Thane of Solitude,_ I finally thought, dropping my bag at the counter and sighed when the innkeep turned to me. He was a broad, fat Nord, and wiped his hands on a cloth as he looked at me expectantly. "How can I help you?" he asked, tucking the cloth into the front of his apron and leaned on the counter.  
"I'd like a room for the next five days," I said. I had arrived a day early for the wedding, and I would probably take the first day to see exactly how many people there were before striking.  
The innkeep nodded. "Sure thing. That'll be fifty gold," he half-smiled. "You here for the wedding?"  
I scoffed. "No; does it look like I'm rich enough to be invited? And don't you think I'd be staying some place other than this hole?" I handed him fifty septims, and he swept them up greedily, a small frown on his face as he tried and failed somewhat to be polite. I was more than a little grumpy from queuing to get inside, and I wasn't interested in pleasantries and such. I narrowed my eyes slightly as he called a tavern girl to show me to my room upstairs, handing me a key before he shouted across the din to another girl. I followed the first up to my room, dipping my head in thanks as she scurried away. I made myself comfortable in the small room, keeping the majority of my things in my bag, and kicked it under the bed after I folded a few civilian clothes into the small drawers at the end of the bed. I let myself out, locking the door.

When I returned to the common room, I heard the soft voice of a woman singing along to a lute. It was the most beautiful think I had ever heard: soft and gentle, laced with a kind of admiration and emotion that made the song so powerful. I moved closer to the source to see who it was, marveling at the slight shiver that traveled down my back. "_With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord Art,_" she sang, and she finally came into view. She must have been a Breton, by her slight build and short stature, but she was beautiful, even dressed in the studded armor she wore. Her hair flowed down over her shoulders and was a light blonde – almost silvery-white – and she had pale green eyes that shone as she sang; her features were all finely sculpted, and she was perfectly curved and rounded in all the right places, and I couldn't help the sudden swell of jealousy that flooded me. What a perfect life she had gotten, while some others got only the scraps…. I wondered briefly if I _really_ wanted to kill her, just to get rid of the person who fueled my jealousy; I was close to deciding I really wanted her dead. "_Believe, believe the Dragonborn comes; it's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes,_" she sang on, her fingers gently playing the lute. A sudden thought struck me: wasn't this Lisette? The very one the Dragonborn was in love with? My jealousy was soothed almost instantly, along with my desire to kill her. If she really _was_ Lisette, then I couldn't kill her: probably not even if I had been sent to kill her. She was too close to home, and the way Tawarthion had spoken of her… I couldn't destroy something like that, not for any gold or deity in the world, not when I was beginning to feel something similar myself. I watched and listened until she finished her song, smiling as a few patrons tossed a few coins into a bowl at her feet. I pushed through the last of the crowd, and pulled out a few septims myself. "Thank you," she said, cradling her lute.  
I felt my lips twitch weakly in a smile. "You have a gift," I replied, stepping backwards as I straightened. She smiled modestly, and wished me a pleasant stay. I just nodded in return as I tried not to run from the inn. I was missing Cicero far too much….

Once I was outside and wandering through the streets of Solitude, I was able to think a little clearer. I came across a group of bards celebrating what I heard was the Burning of King Olaf, and briefly milled about the festivities, which apparently were held weekly at the behest of Jarl Elisif. I found slightly drunken directions to the Temple of the Divines, and slowly made my way there before it was dark. I managed to get a brief look around, just to see what the place really looked like. The Castle Dour would be difficult to get to, but as long as I was on the parapet walls, I would be able to get there just fine. I saw the small platform Gabrielle had spoken of, and I wondered exactly what she had left there for me. It wasn't particularly eye-catching, and it would be perfect for a ranged attack…. I'd have the night and tomorrow to decide: there was no real reason to rush. Besides, the kill needed to be perfect, and I wanted the world to know that it came from the Dark Brotherhood. We were the ones to fear, the ones who could get anything done, and nothing could stop us. Nothing at all.

* * *

Before I returned to the Winking Skeever, I made a stop at Radiant Raiment to buy something a little more classy to wear to the wedding. I tried on two dresses, cringing on the inside when I saw that I had to pay almost six hundred septims for them both – so I opted for something more like what I had at the Sanctuary, and still ended up paying double for it. When I finally returned to the Winking Skeever, a clumsy box under arm, ready to kill an Altmer that crossed my path after the two sisters had seen fit to insult me up, down, left, right and center – which had made me itch to kill them both – it was packed with travelers and residents looking to get drunk and celebrate. I shoved my way through the crowd, almost starting a fight at one point, and finally sank into a chair close to the fire. I leaned my elbows on the table, and put my head in my hands for a moment. A large serving woman with a low-cut dress hovered over me. "Some'in ta eat, lassie?" I almost snapped at her when she called me 'lassie'.  
"Yes, please," I forced out politely. "And some mead, too." The woman nodded, and disappeared through the crowd, slapping away the wandering hands of several drunk patrons. Someone bumped into the back of my chair just as I faced the front again. I spun round, scowling. "Watch it, idiot!" I snapped, glaring up at the offender. My scowl turned into a surprised expression when I saw the offender's face. "Oops," I said, offering a toothy grin that would have made Cicero proud.  
Tar looked down at me with a funny expression on his face. "It's… _good_, to see you too," he finally said, chuckling a little. "I take it the crowds haven't left much room to maneuver?"  
"Not in the slightest," I frowned, shaking my head. "So you're here for the wedding and to see Lisette?"  
He nodded, his face lighting up immediately at the mention of her name. "Yes, to both. I've actually been trying to convince Corpulus – the innkeep – to let her come with me to the wedding over the next three days, but he just plain refuses, no matter what I offer him!" he scowled darkly, muttering something I might have heard if the inn wasn't so busy.  
"Tar!" a soft voice called, and I recognized the voice and face as that of the bard I had been so jealous of earlier as she touched the elf's arm, and he smiled down at her. I glanced away, suddenly feeling like an intruder. "I take it you didn't have any luck with Corpulus, either…" Lisette added, smiling up at Tar.  
He sighed and shook his head, just as the serving woman from earlier slammed my food and drink down on my table. "Outta tables, sonny. Pair up if ya know each other," and then she was off again.  
"You're welcome to join me if you like," I said, looking back at them. The place was crowded beyond anything I had ever seen – hopefully I wouldn't see it ever again, either. They took me up on my offer after exchanging a glance, and it was a surprisingly pleasant time with both of them. Tar informed us that Uthgerd had gone home to Whiterun to be with her sister for a while, and I told them that my half-brother had been called back to Windhelm for guard duty when Tar asked about Aventus– the poor thing couldn't wait to get out into the field, I'd said.

Eventually the topic had strayed again to Vici's wedding, and I asked about the plans for the next three days. Tar had sighed heavily, swirling the red wine in his goblet and grumbled about sitting through speeches of all sorts the first day for the whole day from both parties – thankfully, he added, he wasn't required to say anything and the Altmer had no plan to, either. Vici would be making her speeches the following two – apparently she was quite full of herself. _Perfect for what I had planned,_ I thought. Lisette then went on to add that all the citizens of Skyrim had been invited to see the wedding, though surely not all would make it into the area – that explained the public holidays, amongst other reasons. I hadn't stayed very long after we had finished dinner, opting instead to leave the two of them in relative peace. I glanced over at the innkeeper before I headed up the stairs to my room, the cumbersome box under my arm again. _Yes, some gentle persuasion is all that he needs…._ I grinned darkly at him as he shouted out orders, and tromped up the stairs to my room. I spent some time working on a few basic plans, knowing that I'd have a much better idea of how and what by the end of tomorrow. I pulled on the dress after a quick trip to the washrooms to make sure it fit the way it was supposed to, and stared at myself in the mirror, thinking that I would have liked to have Cicero with me for this. I finally pulled the garment off, changing into a more comfortable robe, and collapsed into bed. I slept easily, stirring slightly throughout the night as the noise from below got a little extreme now and again. I dreamed about the assassination, and when I woke in the morning I almost couldn't believe that I wasn't covered in the blood of my target – and the few others that dared get in my way. I couldn't wait: a dark smirk spread over my face as I thought of the last pieces falling together as a red dawn broke through my window; the last pieces to the beginning of the end of the Dark Brotherhood's misfortune, and the people's lack of respect to my Family. Let the hunting begin.


	21. 21: Bound Until Death, Part II

**A/N:** Yes! It's finally finished! This one went through a re-write, and I had my wisdoms cut out, so it's finally here for all to read. Do enjoy – may you walk always in the shadow of Sithis, Sisters and Brothers…. Oh, and I couldn't find the supposed Castle Dour exit - I spent about 2hrs real-time in Solitude while I was nursing away my chipmunk face trying to find the way out that they mention in-gameX3  
Guest **Z3R0**, your review made my day! I'm hoping this update will be worth a little something-something, yeah?  
Lastly, I have an Easter Egg lined up - 100th reviewer (sadly guest reviewers are not included in this) will get a character in this fanfic - last I checked, there were 10 reviews to 100, so go for it, peeps! I'll PM the 100th reviewer with the news.

**Chapter 21: Bound Until Death, Part II**

The Winking Skeever was surprisingly empty by the time I headed downstairs for an early breakfast in my dress, pointedly ignoring the few lingering gazes of scattered men and one or two women. I ordered breakfast and ate quickly, deciding I'd rather spend some of the day wandering the city to get to know a few escape routes, and see if I couldn't stash my pack and possessions somewhere outside the city for me to fetch at a later stage, should I be separated from them for whatever good or bad reason.

I wandered through all of Solitude for the better half of the morning, memorizing niches and hiding spots that could prove useful. The city was immense, and I had no doubt they'd put it in lock-down as soon as Vici was killed. That meant I wouldn't be able to escape for at least a week if I couldn't get out via the Castle Dour, or even the Catacombs – I'd leave the Catacombs as a backup for my backup – and when they eventually _did_ lift the heavy security to allow people in and out again, they'd surely stop almost everyone and search bags. How exciting! The chances of getting caught raised the stakes, made the kill even more tantalizing… I grinned, walking over to the Temple of the Divines. I let my smile fade away gently, looking up at an Imperial soldier as I made my way closer to the courtyard where I could hear a man give a long-winded speech about prosperity and peace and honor and other political nonsense. The soldier moved to block me. I smiled gently. "I'd like to head into the Temple, please," I explained. They couldn't deny us religion, not even for the Emperor's wedding. He nodded stiffly, motioning at a younger soldier to walk with me. _Lots of high-profile people. Is that… _Amaund _I see over there?_ I wondered, catching a glimpse of a Breton who looked a lot like my client. I grinned at the thought that he might be here, and headed into the Temple.

It was quiet, and cool inside. The soldier hasn't come in with me, so I could wander through the place with relative ease. The priest and two priestesses were kneeling by the many shrines, their heads bowed in prayer. I wondered again – surely for the millionth time – if their gods ever heard them. I knew Sithis and the Night Mother heard me; I knew the daedra often chose mortal champions, but the Divines? I frowned slightly, shaking my head as I explored the upper levels first. A door led to the outside, and I stood on the balcony Gabrielle had promised to leave a surprise on. There was nothing here now, but I had no doubt that she had already known my plan of action. It gave me a wonderful view of the courtyard, and the balcony where, what I assumed was, an Imperial Legionnaire was giving yet another well-wishing and political speech. I was surprised that I found no Thalmor in the crowd…. _I suppose it's not really any of their business._ I looked up, trying to see if I could scale the wall and from the parapets make my way to the Castle Dour. For the limited amount of space, I'd need a rope dangling down to help me up. _Too vulnerable to archers,_ I scowled. I'd come back for Gabrielle's gift anyway, and see if it would be useful to me. I went back inside the Temple, and found the crumbling stone passages to Potema's Catacombs. I eyed them warily, agreeing with Festus that they were a fool's or a desperate assassin's escape. And there was no guarantee that the barrow it led into would have another exit, or if that exit was even viable to use. Assuming I could even get through them – surely some kind of dark magic also protected the place, regardless of whether or not Tawarthion had cleared the catacombs a few months ago – or something like that. I was scowling deeply when I returned to the main hall within the Temple, and sat down on one of the pews, my head bowed as if in prayer. I stayed for a few moments, then smoothed my features and left, right as one of the priestesses seemed to look my way. _There is only one way in and out of here…_ I reminded myself when I stood in the courtyard again. The same soldier as earlier escorted me out. "Will the reception be open to the public?" I asked, lifting my brows as I looked innocently at the soldier.

He nodded quickly, glancing away from me. "Yes," he said stiffly – he sounded nervous. I almost grinned. "Tomorrow and the day thereafter the public will be allowed to see the lady Vittoria and her husband, Asgeir Snow-Shod."  
I smiled brightly at him, smirking on the inside at the light blush on his cheeks. "Oh, thank you!" I half-giggled, leaving the baffled soldier with his furious superior. I headed up a long flight of stairs to the parapets, and a very abandoned-looking Thalmor Headquarters building was on my right. Castle Dour was a bit of a stretch to the left. I walked closer to my escape, seeing it was something more akin to a dungeon and the Imperial Legion Headquarters. I'd have a hard time getting past the guards without a fight, but so long as I had a bow I could shoot down one, maim another and have my blades ready for the last two. I smiled shyly at those guarding the doors, and headed inside.  
I must have wandered through at least three times before I came to the conclusion that there was no way I could escape from here – unless I took the door out on the southern side and used the stairs in a tower to go all the way down to the Winking Skeever. If I was fast, I could maybe push through the gates before they could call lock-down and be out on my way home. I was mildly angry – this was entirely useless and Castle Dour was nothing more than a death-trap! Unless there was a restricted area to the outside, and one person can only do so much visual scouting and ask so many questions before it becomes suspicious. I couldn't remember exactly what Veezara had said about Castle Dour, but I had a strange suspicion Astrid might have something to do with it. I shook my head and gave up for today. Tomorrow was the day, and I would improvise. Besides, assassins can't always count on plans working perfectly. I bought lunch from a small stall, and bought several yards of rope from another, which I used to make my escape from Gabrielle's balcony. I was wandering back to the inn when a familiar, green face appeared in the crowd ahead. I blinked once: why was Veezara here, dressed as richly as he was? He nodded at me, then turned down one of the alleys. I followed immediately.

Veezara was leaning against a wall when I reached him in the narrow alley, a toothy smile on his face. "It's good to see you too," I said softly in reply to his grin. "What are you doing here?"  
"I had a nearby contract, and thought I'd come to Solitude and see of you needed help with the escape. Not that I doubt you – it could just be the difference in seconds between being outside Solitude or outside a jail cell until they eventually find you, if you'd like my help."  
My lips turned upwards darkly for a moment. "I appreciate it. But what if you get caught or killed? It's not as if we have so many _dispensable_ siblings; and besides – you're the last Shadowscale. Someone has to teach the next Argonian who turns out to be like you."  
Veezara grinned slyly. "Let's just say I'm not as alone as I thought I was. And I know all of that – I still want to help. So, what about Castle Dour? Can it work?" My scowl gave away my feelings. "So it wasn't quite as useful as I heard and assumed it would be…" Veezara trailed.  
"Heard it would be?"  
"Astrid mentio–"  
"That conniving _harlot!_" I hissed, wishing I could stab someone. Veezara stared on, shocked. "After _everything_ I've done to keep her happy, keep her as my _leader_ and she _still_ tries to undermine everything that's beyond our control!" I seethed.  
"Alysa, slow down! You surely don't mean any of that…?" the Shadowscale was standing now, his arms at his sides.  
I glared up at him. "I do. I really, really do. If you still want to help it's up to you. I strike tomorrow, and I'll be staying at the Winking Skeever."

I turned and left. Oh, when I get back to the Sanctuary…. _Astrid, you had better start _praying_ for our Mother and Sithis' mercy…_.

* * *

My Argonian brother ended up staying in the Winking Skeever, too – bought the best room for a ridiculous price, but after threatening to take his business elsewhere got the room for less than half with any services he desired. If I hadn't still been furious about Astrid's little plot, I'd have been impressed. After storming away from Veezara, I had taken my pack down to the farm where my horse was stabled, hiding it between the back wall of the stable and a feed trough. After some debate I left my quiver and bow there as well. The horse actually seemed glad to see me, so I stopped for a moment to stroke it, and when the boy came my way again I tossed him a few more coins. He almost dropped them he was so shocked. He didn't even notice that a pig was missing, or the heavy, red-stained waterskin I carried away with me. I had what I needed to leave a signature.

Either way, I was back in the Winking Skeever, and the place was crammed again. I left for my room, and checked that I had everything I needed – lockpicks, daedric daggers (both in perfect condition), my armor, cloak, the dress I was wearing, and one small vial of frost poison. I also had my waterskin full of pig's blood which I would use to leave a little something at the wedding. An artist always signs their artwork, not so? _Everything I need_, I thought with a smirk, and carefully bundled everything together and pulled on the robes I took with me every time I left the Sanctuary. I cleaned up, pulled my robes on and fell asleep fairly easily – I couldn't wait for dawn.

* * *

I stood in front of the mirror that morning, scrutinizing myself. My hair was pulled back into a low bun to fit under my cowl, my armor just hidden under the crudely modified dress and cloak – thank Sithis the day was turning out to be cold, so I wouldn't look too out of place – daggers strapped on my thighs, the poison and blood tied onto my belt. I was ready.

Breakfast was light and fast, and I overheard Lisette trying to convince Corpulus to let her go to the wedding – just for one hour, then she'd be back, she swore. He had kept refusing, eventually sending her off with an irritated look on his face while she looked close to tears. I scowled in their direction. _A little gentle persuasion should do it,_ I thought, standing and walking towards Lisette. "Come on, we're going to the wedding."  
She stared at me a little blankly. "But, what about –"  
"He's not a problem, let's go," I said, making a split-second decision to grab her wrist and pull her along behind me. I was grateful for the standard-issue Dark Brotherhood gloves between my skin and hers, though. I had barely ushered her out of the door when Corpulus stopped us. "Go," I commanded, shoving Lisette out into the streets of Solitude before sauntering back to the innkeep.  
"What do you think you're doing taking her out of _my_ inn?"  
I glanced around the empty common room dramatically. "I don't see anyone down here who would miss her. Your patrons are either in their rooms nursing a good, old-fashioned hangover from your alcohol, or they're all down at the wedding already," I smiled darkly.  
Corpulus almost growled at me, storming up and breathing down on me. My nose wrinkled on instinct at his stench, and my daedric dagger was in his belly as soon as he stood close to me. "Now, you'll let her go, or I'll be forced to satisfy my curiosity," I murmured, looking up at the blanched man. Up close I could tell he was mostly fat. "See, I always wanted to know what would happen if I sliced and diced a fat man like yourself – would fat ooze out, like blood, or would it be hard? And stop me, or punish Lisette for this, and Sithis knows I would be so open to… _persuading_ you again."

I turned and left without a second glance at the man. My blade already sheathed and hidden before I reached the door.

* * *

"Are you ready?" a soft reptilian voice murmured by my ear. I was listening to the umpteenth speech Vici was giving, and each one was met with fervor from the crowd.  
"Always," I breathed, turning around and weaving my way across the courtyard to my balcony. The crowd was thick, but still every now and then I had seen Lisette and Tawarthion in some place, smiling to each other with stolen touches and kisses that made me long for Cicero. But the hunt was much closer, and the thought of all the chaos I would cause was enough to make me feel a bloodlust I hadn't felt since I had returned from my meeting with Amaund. I raced up the stairs to the balcony, tearing off the dress easily and stuffed it behind a pot plant, pulling up my cowl and hood. When I opened the door at the top of the stairs, I smiled at Gabrielle's gift. It was a bow – elvish in make, so it was lighter and more ornate than my daedric bow, along with a quiver of five elvish arrows and a Philter of True Shot. I crouched, quickly tugging on my rope to make sure it was still in place before I drank the potion. I was a fair shot, but I'd only have one chance at this: it wouldn't do to mess it up. I put the waterskin on the floor next to me, holding it up carefully as I used a dagger to cut the lip off to let me put my hand inside. The blood spilled out a little as I touched the palm of my gloved hand to the surface of the blood, and pressed it against the cold, grey stone next to me. I let the skin go, and it sagged under the weight of the blood, spreading in a deep crimson pool. I grinned, thrilled at the sight. I picked up the bow, and one arrow. I could feel the potion hard at work in my system: I knew the exact way to shoot for the perfect kill. I popped open my bottle of poison, dipped the arrowhead in and stood as I drew the bow. Vici was prattling on about peace and her day is everyone's day, a new day for Skyrim.

I fired.

She stopped speaking, gurgled. I smiled: my arrow was in her throat.

Her husband was shocked. Someone screamed.

I was racing up the wall, along the parapets over the balcony Vici had been speaking from, down the other side into the residential area of Solitude. Bells tolled loudly as the crowd started screaming and shouting. _So alive_, I grinned broadly under my cowl, ripping it down and flying into a small courtyard of a house, my fingers already working the picks to open the lock. I let myself in and shut the door. I would be able to hide behind the many barrels and crates in the basement I found myself in. Apparently, the owner liked wine: lots of wine. I crouched down in my new hiding spot, thinking to wait it out for a few hours while Veezara worked his magic.

* * *

I dozed occasionally, and sometimes scratched around in the crates that opened silently, and found an old, slightly musty dress that was a bit big for me, but something I could use to get out – I'd need to take off my armor and fold it into a piece of canvas I found – and when it finally turned to twilight I heard voices in the house, coming down into the basement. "Oh, that's awful! And you were there, my Thane?" a young woman's voice asked.  
"Yes, Jordis. I just don't know how this could have happened, or who did it. I doubt the Argonian they caught had anything to do with it, though… it just seems too easy…" a man's voice trailed. It was a surprisingly familiar voice, too… I just couldn't place it. I kept listening, curious as to what Veezara had told them.  
"And didn't they find a handprint on a balcony, with a bow called Finriel's End and a pool of blood? Could it be the… you know, the…" the woman – Jordis's – voice dropped to a whisper as if she was afraid someone might hear them. _And someone does_, I thought smugly. A few glass bottles clinked together, and then against wood. "They did, yes. And it could be the Dark Brotherhood. I just can't imagine them sending out a member to take the blame while the other escaped; it's the only thing that explains what happened and their numbers are too low to allow for this. And the Argonian only mentioned that he knew who did it, not that _he_ committed the murder." The man shoved a bottle back onto a shelf somewhere. "There's something very off about this, and Ulfric should know about it as soon as possible. Would you find Lisette for me, and bring her here? She said she was going back to the inn, and while I doubt anything would happen to her there, I'd feel better if she was closer to me."  
_Sweet Night Mother_, I cursed mentally. What a house I had picked to break into. Jordis agreed to Tawarthion's request, and I heard her steel-booted feet disappear out the basement door. The Altmer sighed, finally selecting a wine that suited his mood and disappeared upstairs. I had moments to get out and away from here. Thank the previous brothers and sisters in my Family for having developed armor that was easy to put on and take off. I was dressed and my things wrapped in canvas in record time, and after a quick scan of the indoor area, headed out. I had my cloak on to hide the change in clothes, and the canvas bag was cradled in my arms. It was surprisingly easy – I was almost suspicious of it. I passed Lisette and a dark blonde woman whom I presumed was Jordis, but neither saw me, thankfully. I made my way to the inn without trouble, and apparently the guards had already dealt with 'the Argonian' as the Shadowscale had been dubbed. I asked one of the maids to bring bread and cheese up to my room, and after that cold dinner I changed into my Brotherhood robes. I would find out a little more in the morning and leave then. For now, it was a job well done, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face.


End file.
